Valley of the Dolls
by TeenIdle17
Summary: Perhaps the Capitol's greatest defining feature is its arrogance. No one can defy what the Capitol wants. What if the Gamemakers had been...lazy...in their wording of the infamous rule change in the 74th Hunger Games? "One boy and one girl will win this year's games." Katniss and Peeta are no longer technically a package deal. If Cato wins instead...what will happen?
1. Chapter 1

Valley of the Dolls—Prologue

"Come on!" I scream, my voice scraping my throat raw as I run at top speed toward the giant, golden horn that is our only hope of salvation. At any other time, I would find the irony of it funny. The Cornucopia is the place where more tributes die than any other and yet it's the only place where Peeta and I stand a chance of being safe.

I glance at Peeta, who's only a step or two behind me, his arms pumping at his sides, his face flushed from exertion. I'm a faster runner than he is and I can only pray that he can keep up. I've always been better than him at the physical aspect of the games, but I know better than anyone that we are a team. We will make it out of this together. The Capitol doesn't want us to die, of that I am sure. Seneca Crane's voice echoes in my mind as I recall the message that changed everything.

_Attention tributes: There has been a rule change. TWO people will be allowed to win this year, one boy and one girl. I repeat, there has been a rule change, one boy and one girl will win this year's Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor._

The odds are certainly in my favor now. Technically, I've already won. I'm the only girl left alive. Peeta is not so lucky. Cato, the Career from District 2, is still alive, hiding out somewhere probably, waiting for Peeta to die. Then again, it wouldn't surprise me if he wanted to do the deed himself, and kill me in the process. I have never seen such hate in someone, except perhaps in Gale. But Gale's hate burns with the passion of righteous vengeance, of someone who has suffered too many wrongs for far too long. Gale's hate I can understand. Cato radiates a cold fury that scares me; his eyes are dead except when they glint with a dark amusement at the violence he inflicts. I recall the look of iciness in his eyes when he realized what I had done with the tracker jacker nest and I shudder. Death is waiting for me there.

The growls from the mutts bring me back to reality. I knock an arrow and fire it off at the mutt who so resembles Rue; it was about to sink its monstrous jaws into Peeta. It falls back and Peeta sends me a nod of thanks. It's all he can manage, seeing as he can barely breathe from running so much. I look down at his leg, knowing it must be paining him terribly, and my jaw sets in determination. We will win. I will not let the boy with the bread die. Not when I have the opportunity to save him and save myself in the process.

Finally, we reach the Cornucopia, a hunk of metal that is impossibly high and equally impossible to climb. Peeta and I glance at each other for half a second before he cups his hands, offering me a brace.

"I'll help you up, then you pull me up," he yells over the sounds of the mutts' growls and snarls. I shake my head.

"No," I yell back. "I'm safe, Peeta. I've already won. I've already won! You first!" I mimic his hand gesture and, realizing that we are out of time, a furious Peeta braces himself against me as I push him upward. His nails make an awful scraping sound against the metal of the Cornucopia as he scrambles up. I look behind me and see that the mutts are less than five feet away and showing no signs of slowing. Suddenly doubting my supposed safety, I scream.

"Peeta, hurry up!"

His face, bruised, bloody and covered in dirt, peers over the side and he reaches out to me with both hands. I can just barely reach them standing on my toes. He grabs my wrists and pulls up; I do what I can to climb the Cornucopia but the slick surface of the metal prevents me from getting any kind of foothold. The mutts are so close that I can feel their hot breath on my ankles, but Peeta pulls me to safety before they can strike. I breathe a sigh of relief and he smiles, believing us safe, but our moment of respite is short-lived. A huge hand grabs Peeta's shoulder and yanks him away from me, tossing him several feet towards the other side of the Cornucopia. Peeta howls and is already on his feet before I can process what's going on, rushing at the enemy. Too much is happening at once. My mind, however, screams one word above all others.

_Cato!_

I reflexively grab my bow and load it with what I realize is my last arrow, but in the time that it has taken me to understand what's happened, things have changed. Peeta and Cato have exchanged blows. Both are bloody and in bad shape, but Peeta looks ready to collapse. Cato, a savage grin on his feral face, spins Peeta around and holds him in a headlock. Peeta yanks against Cato but the brute from District 2 doesn't even budge. The three of us stand still, the growls from the now-distant mutts the only sound that fills the night air.

"Go ahead," Cato taunts, tightening his grip on Peeta. "Shoot. It won't help you. I'm wearing armor."

One glance and I can see that he's right. His chest, arms, hands, and legs are all covered by a black metal casing, making him impervious to my arrows. I do not release, but I do not lower my bow either.

"Your head isn't protected," I say, raising my bow to aim right at his head. Cato's smile falls but only for a second.

"So then your boyfriend and I'll both die," he says, his eyes locked with mine. In that moment I know that he'll do it, insane as it is. That armor of his just might protect him long enough from the mutts for Peeta to die first. I bite my lip, knowing that we're at an impasse. I need to keep Cato distracted until I can figure out a way to kill him and save Peeta.

"Kat…niss…" Peeta chokes out, still attempting to weakly claw at Cato's arm. I gulp, my eyes meeting Peeta's. Hold on, my eyes tell him. Just a little longer. I won't let you die, Peeta.

Cato's squinty eyes narrow as he watches our interaction. He loosens his grip and for one surreal second I think he's going to let Peeta go, but he grabs Peeta's shoulders in one hand and his legs in the other, lifting him high in the air.

"Say _goodbye_!" Cato yells and tosses Peeta over the side.

"No!" I scream. All thought of Cato forgotten, I lunge toward the far side of the Cornucopia, where the low growls of the mutts has turned into a cacophony of vicious snarls mixed in with Peeta's screams. I fire off an arrow, striking one mutt, and reach back for another. My heart drops into my stomach as I realize that my quiver is empty. I can barely make out Peeta's face amid the mutts.

"Katniss!" he yells, his back arched in pain.

"Hold on!" I call down and without regard to my own safety start to slide down the side of the Cornucopia. What I intend to do, I don't know. All I know is that I can't let Peeta die. Not like this.

Cato's hand grips my wrist hard enough to leave a bruise and he pulls me back to safety, turning me so my back is to the edge of the Cornucopia. I look at him in bewilderment, unable to rationalize this move as the sounds of Peeta dying fill my ears. Cato hates me. Why isn't he letting me fall?

"Don't be stupid," he says, close enough to my face that there's no need to yell. "You've already won."

Horror racing through my veins, I yank against him, but he won't let go. Desperate, I spit in his face. It shocks him enough for him to let me go and I turn my back on him, racing for the edge, but he tackles me, slamming me hard onto my stomach. He stays on top of me, holding me down as I thrash against him, repeating "you've already won" over and over again. I scream as a last resort, but the sound of the cannon drowns my wailing out. I freeze, my mind going numb with shock. If the cannon went off that means that Peeta is dead. But Peeta cannot be dead. I will not allow him to be dead.

The arena falls eerily silent as Cato gets to his feet. I make no effort to do the same. Peeta cannot be dead, but just the same I know I do not want to see what is at the foot of the Cornucopia.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the winners of the 74th Annual Hunger Games!" Caesar Flickerman's voice calls out, descending on us like the voice of God. "Katniss Everdeen and Cato Bodea!"

Author's Note:

Hey guys! TeenIdle17 here with my first Hunger Games fanfiction. Please review, I'm eager for reviews both positive and critical :) A couple of housekeeping items. The title, Valley of the Dolls, is taken from a Marina and the Diamonds song that you should definitely check out as I believe it suits the nature of my fic pretty well. Also, I'm not writing this with the intention of shipping Cato and Katniss together, but if it happens, it happens. I find it unlikely, personally, but if it comes out in the writing I'll go with it. So...I think that's it for now. Happy reading and don't forget to leave a review please! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Valley of the Dolls—Chapter One**

_Six Months Later_

I stalk through the wood, my footfalls barely making a sound. If I was quiet before the Hunger Games, now I am silent. The doe I am hunting, a rare find this close to town, has no idea of the danger it's in. Its fur is almost exactly the same hue as the muttation whose eyes so resembled Glimmer, the female tribute from District 1. My hands shake a little at the memory but I steady them quickly, not willing to let a memory six months dead distract me from the prey that's right in front of me.

_Three. Two. One._

I let my arrow fly and it strikes the doe in the head, killing it almost instantly. I relax my bow arm, releasing a breath I didn't know I had been holding in a shuddering gasp that sounds nothing like me. This doe will provide a lot of meat for the families that so desperately need it. It's a better kill than I've made in weeks. I should feel proud of myself, but all I feel is emptiness.

"Nice one, Catnip."

I turn and see Gale standing a few feet from me, a pair of dead rabbits in his hand. I say nothing in reply, only move to start skinning my kill, a job that'll take me the rest of the morning. Gale silently follows me and begins working on the deer alongside me.

"You don't have to help me," I say. "It's your only day off, Gale. You should enjoy it."

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," he says, not looking up from his task. I say nothing, only watch his practiced hands perform a task that is second nature to both of us. I avoid looking at his face. I already know the changes I will see there. Now that Gale is out of school, he works in the coal mine six days a week along with almost all of the other men of District 12. It's back-breaking work and as much as Gale denies it, I can see the toll it takes on him. Being in the mine, knowing that that's what killed both of our fathers, must be agonizing. The safety precautions the managers put in place are next to negligible—people die every year—and every day that I see Gale walk out of that shaft, covered in coal dust, I breathe a sigh of thanks. If Gale died I don't know what I would do.

Gale told me he feels the same way about me, though he said it a little differently. He grieved with me over Peeta's death, but he couldn't hide the fact that he was at least partially glad the boy with the bread is dead. Watching Peeta's and my "affair" on television can't have been easy for him. He's made it clear how he feels about me, but I can't bring myself to tell him what he wants to hear. He thinks that I really did fall in love with Peeta, but that's not it. I didn't love Peeta. Not like that. But I owed him everything. He and I were a team. We were supposed to win, both of us, together. Let the Capitol call us "the star-crossed lovers from District 12" or whatever they want. What Peeta and I had went so much deeper than some stupid love affair. We both saved each other multiple times in the games. When you choose to trust someone enough to put your life in their hands, it changes you.

I want to ask Gale why he's here. Why this is the place he'd want to be most in the world. I haven't exactly been kind to him since I came back. He made the mistake of telling me that he was glad that I hadn't been able to go after Peeta at the Cornucopia and I didn't speak to him for weeks. He finally offered me an apology he didn't mean and I accepted it, not willing to lose the only person I could really call a friend.

Why? I feel like that's all I've been asking these past six months. Why did Peeta have to die? Why do I feel like I've lost a piece of myself, like I died right along with Peeta? More than anything, why did Cato stop me from going after Peeta? He had no reason to. I even heard him swear to kill me himself. But thanks to him, Peeta is gone and I'm still here, walking around like a living corpse. Haymitch tried to explain it to me after the games ended, but nothing he was saying made sense. All I could understand was that things had ended horribly wrong. He eventually gave up trying to talk to me and gave into his favorite habit, drink. He and I haven't spoken much since the games ended. He rarely leaves his house in the Victors' Village.

"Ok, that's it," Gale says. I look up, startled, and he smiles at me. At some point I stopped working on skinning the deer; Gale finished up the task for me, along with the two rabbits he had caught. The animals are all butchered, ready to be taken to the Hob.

"I…sorry," I say, hurrying to gather up the pieces of meat. Gale does the same.

"It's fine, Catnip," he says in a gentle voice. I scowl at him, jump to my feet, and walk away, the deer pieces loaded in my pack. No one knows better than me how out of it I've been lately, but that doesn't give Gale license to treat me like some fragile doll that can't pull her own weight on a hunt.

"Hey, wait up!" he calls after me but I don't stop. Checking to make sure the coast is clear, I hurry towards the fence that "protects" District 12 and climb under it, the loose wire scraping a bit against my back. Gale won't chase me down. He knows better than that. At some point I'll have to apologize for deserting him for no apparent reason, but that point isn't today.

I pull the hood on my jacket up over my head as I enter town, not wanting to talk to anyone I might come across. Not that people talk to me much. I'm untouchable to them now; I'm a Victor.

I slip into the Hob, the smell of roasting meat filling my nostrils. I hurry over to Greasy Sae, who winks at me and rubs her bony hands together at the sight of my full pack. I drop the pack on her table without a word and turn to leave.

"Wait!" she calls out, hobbling after me. "I haven't paid you."

I shake my head. "I don't need payment. You know that." Before she can argue any more, I leave the building, suddenly desperate to be home. I'm halfway to the Seam before I remember that I don't live there anymore. I stop in the middle of the road, struck by how surreal my new life is. I live in the Victors' Village with Mom and Prim in one of the nicest houses I've ever seen. I no longer have to attend school, leaving me free to hunt every day, but that too is no longer necessary with the salary the Capitol pays me. I don't keep it all, of course. One month's worth goes to Rue's family over in District 11, three months' worth goes to the Hawthornes, and three months' worth goes to the Mellarks, leaving my family with the remaining five months' worth. My fists tighten at the thought of Peeta's mother, who accepted my offer without as much as a word of protest. I can tell by the looks she gives me that she blames me for her son's death, which is rich considering that she never even thought he would survive the games anyway. Anger fills me for a minute, but then it leaves me again, leaving me feeling like a deflated balloon. Sighing, I turn toward the Victors' Village with hunched shoulders.

"Katniss!"

I look up at the sound of my name and see Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter, running toward me at top speed, waving at me to stop. I force myself to smile at her, knowing that apart from Gale she's the only person I can really call a friend, and wait for her to stop running.

"Thank goodness I caught you," she says, panting and reminding me irresistibly of Peeta. "The president is here."

"What?" I ask, my blood running cold. President Snow here in District 12? Nothing good can come of such a thing.

"President Snow is here," Madge repeats. "At your house, wondering where you are. I was there getting goat's milk from Prim and I told him that you were at the Hawthornes' but that I would fetch you right away. He wants to speak to you in private."

I look down at my obvious hunting clothes, smeared with deer blood, and gulp. Madge smiles.

"Don't worry, I stopped by my house first and got you a change of clothes." She pulls out a pale yellow dress that I wouldn't ordinarily be caught dead in from behind her back and I pull her into a tight embrace, surprising her.

"Thank you," I say into her ear, glad that I can count Madge as a friend. I take the dress and hurry behind a tree to change, my mind racing again with the question why, why, why.

Author's Note:

Hello everyone! Lots of updates today. I know this chapter isn't very actiony and of course there's no Cato, but not to worry; the next chapter will be quite dramatic and Cato will have a prime role. As always, please leave me a review if you so desire :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Valley of the Dolls—Chapter Two**

"Ah, Miss Everdeen," President Snow says from my living room. He rises to his feet, dusting off his pants with obvious disdain for our less-than-outstanding housekeeping. "I've been waiting for you."

The meaning in his words is clear. _Where were you?_

"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, President Snow," I say, wanting to bite my tongue off for speaking such blasphemy. "I didn't know you were here. I was just at—"

"Your cousin Gale's house," Snow interrupts. "Your mother was just telling me. Yes."

"Yes," I repeat, grateful for my mother's quick thinking. Haymitch stressed to me how important it was for the Capitol to continue to believe in my love for Peeta, and having Gale as a best friend, no matter how platonic my feelings are, is risky at best. I cannot help but notice the two guards Snow has brought with him. They stand by the far wall, clearly trying to fade into the background, but the threat is still clear to everyone. I narrow my eyes, wondering what threat Snow could possibly perceive here. What does he think I'm going to do, attack him? I can't say that I haven't imagined it, but I know the risks. The price for attacking the president is too high.

"Would you like some tea, President Snow?" my mother asks in an attempt to diffuse the tension. "I've just brewed some."

Snow glances at her with obvious irritation before responding. "No thank you, Mrs. Everdeen. I won't be staying long. In fact, I think I'd like to see more of District 12. This is my first time visiting, you know. Katniss, would you care to accompany me?"

He locks eyes with me and I know he's not asking. I say "of course" in the most gracious voice I can manage before catching my mother's eye. She's worried, and that makes me all the more anxious. I want to ask Snow what he's doing here, but I can't afford to appear rude. That was a lesson Haymitch taught me well. I follow Snow out the door, his guards taking up the rear, and I can't help but feel like a dangerous prisoner being moved out of her cell.

A pale white limousine waits on the curb, the only car on the street. The driver, dressed in the same uniform as the guards, jumps out to open the door and I freeze. Something about this isn't right.

"Wouldn't you prefer to walk, President Snow?" I ask. "You won't be able to see much from those windows; they're so dark. And the weather is nice."

President Snow stops at the open door and looks back at me. He knows exactly what I'm doing. "They're only tinted from the outside," he says. "You can see just fine."

"But I—"

"Really, Miss Everdeen. I insist."

I look at him for a long moment and glance down at the pale white rose he wears on his lapel. He wore one during my time at the Capitol as well. I give a sharp nod, knowing that once again I am powerless to refuse. Snow nods approvingly and gets into the car. One of the guards nudges me forward and I start moving, my mind racing with possibilities. This car could easily take me away from District 12, away to God knows where. I look around, suddenly wishing that Haymitch was here to tell me what to do. He would know what Snow is planning.

I climb into the car and sit down but jump to my feet as soon as I skim the rest of the car.

"You!" I yelp, pointing a finger absurdly toward the front of the limo.

"Hi, Katniss," Cato says, arrogance and entitlement rolling off him in waves. I start to move toward him, fury filling me as it hasn't for six months, but the guards grip me roughly and force me back to my seat.

"Sit _down_, Miss Everdeen," President Snow says even though I'm already sitting, a guard's hand on each of my shoulders. "And don't shout. It's very rude, you know." To the man behind the steering wheel, he says, "Drive."

The car pulls away from the curb and I watch, helpless, as my house zooms away from me. President Snow sighs in satisfaction.

"Now, we can talk."

"What is he doing here?" I demand, all sense of decorum forgotten. Snow stiffens before leaning forward and grabbing my chin in his hand.

"I do believe you've forgotten who you're talking to," he says in a deathly whisper. "Miss Everdeen."

We hold eye contact for a minute but ultimately I look down, knowing that this is a battle I can't win. The smell of his rose is overpowering, cloying in its sweetness, but I also for a minute imagine that I can smell blood on the man's breath.

"Very good," Snow says, releasing his grip on me. The guards do so at the same time but I can tell by their posture that they are waiting for me to make another mistake.

"Now," Snow continues with the air of a man who has nothing but time on his hands. "Congratulations, first of all."

Neither Cato nor I say anything for a minute.

"Sir?" Cato finally asks. My blood boils at the sound of his voice, so subservient and simpering. I notice then that he's even sitting the same way as Snow, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, and I resist the urge to vomit.

"Well, on your victory, of course," Snow says as though it's obvious. "Never before have two people managed to win the Hunger Games."

"Thank you, sir," Cato says, uncertainty obvious in his voice. I remain silent, waiting for Snow to reveal the real reason he's here.

Snow casts a withering look at Cato. "Perhaps I shouldn't be extending congratulations to you, Mr. Bodea. It was not you, after all, for whom the rules were changed." He looks back to me and I can feel a flush rising on my cheeks. I sit tall and straight, unwilling to be cowed by his reference to Peeta. Cato leans back, abashed and angry.

"No, no, the rules all changed because of the star-crossed lovers from District 12," Snow says, laughter in his voice. "That's what they call you, did you know? You're quite popular in the Capitol."

Again I say nothing. Snow doesn't seem to notice.

"Yes, quite popular," he continues in a voice that's almost dreamy as he leans back and crosses his thin arms behind his head. "Almost too popular."

My ears perk up at this, sensing that we're finally getting to the real issue here. "What do you mean by too popular…sir?" I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady. Snow looks at me with those cold, calculating eyes and I sit up a little straighter, refusing to be intimidated beyond what is necessary for my and my family's survival. He chuckles before sitting up again.

"Well, as I'm sure you're both aware, these games were supposed to have a fairytale ending. The star-crossed lovers from District 12 were going to make it home in each other's arms. But we all know that didn't happen." He glares at Cato for a moment, who flushes. "The Capitol doesn't like it when it doesn't get its fairytale ending."

"There's unrest in the Capitol," I say in a breathy voice, putting the pieces together. Snow scowls, angry at me for stating it aloud.

"Yes, Miss Everdeen," he says in a cold voice. "There is unrest in the Capitol. And I do not intend to let that unrest go unresolved." Turning to Cato, he says, "If I thought killing you would do any good, I would do it in a heartbeat." All the color drains from Cato's face and I can't help but let a small, vicious smile cross my face. Yes. Let him die for what he did.

"Don't look so alarmed, Mr. Bodea," Snow says. "I said _if_ I thought killing you would do any good. I don't. It won't. So your life is safe." He doesn't need to add the "for now."

"So what will help?" I ask, eager for this car ride to be over. We must have driven around the same block five times by now. Snow smirks at me and I know he has something dreadful planned.

"You leave for your Victory Tour the day after tomorrow," he says. "Traditionally the victor's district is last on the list for visitation, but seeing as we have two districts this year we're eschewing that tradition. We start in 12, work our way down to 1, and end in the Capitol. You and Cato will present a united front in the districts; there will be no animosity between you, _none_. And when Caesar Flickerman interviews you for all of Panem to see, Miss Everdeen, and asks you how you feel about your fellow victor, you will make it clear that no enmity exists between the two of you. Do I make myself clear?"

"You want me to forgive him for killing Peeta on national television," I say, shock making the moment seem like something out of a nightmare.

"Yes," he says. "Thanking him for saving your life when you were so foolishly going to throw it away would also be a nice touch."

"I—"

"Think carefully before you refuse me, Miss Everdeen," Snow interrupts. "I think you are aware that I am not a very patient man. Nor a very forgiving one."

I close my mouth and force myself to think for a minute. If Snow was willing to kill Cato, the newest Victor—or at least one of the newest Victors—things in the Capitol must be bad. Bad enough that Snow would do anything to see that things calm down, including kill off anyone and everyone he thinks stands in his way. My family's faces flash across my mind followed by Gale's. I failed Peeta. I cannot fail them too.

"Fine," I say through gritted teeth.

"Good girl," Snow says as the car pulls to a stop. "Mr. Bodea will be staying in the house across from you until the tour begins. Perhaps you can give him a tour of your district tomorrow, Miss Everdeen. You were right, I'm afraid we didn't get to see much on this trip."

I look at Cato, who's smirking at me, and my hands ball into fists. President Snow can put false words in my mouth and a doll's smile on my face but he cannot force me to actually interact with the monster that killed the boy with the bread.

"I will see you both in the Capitol," Snow says as the driver opens the door for me and Cato to get out. I manage a nod before practically hurling myself on the pavement in my need to get away from the smell of roses and blood. I know Cato is following me but I ignore him, keeping my back to him. The driver shuts the door and in another moment the president's limousine has pulled away.

"So—" Cato starts.

"Drop dead," I say without a backward glance as I hurry into the house, locking the door behind me.

Author's Note: Mmmyes, hello. Chapter Two done yay! Sooooo what do you guys think? Love it? Hate it? Couldn't care less? Please let me know in that little review box down there. I'm even open to suggestions for where you would like the story to go, though I can't guarantee that I'll use them. ^_^ Happy reading everyone and thank you for sticking with me on this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Valley of the Dolls—Chapter Three**

"Okay, you need to tell me _exactly_ what happened. Start at the beginning and leave nothing out," Haymitch commands, clutching his head in his hands as he leans on our dining room table. He is obviously fighting off a raging hangover. I huff, frustrated, and tell him again what happened in the limousine.

He looks up when I've finished talking, biting his lip and looking around the room with unfocused eyes.

"I was afraid of this," he says. "I was afraid of this."

"Afraid of what?" Prim asks, speaking up for the first time since I arrived home.

"Unrest in the Capitol," Haymitch spits out, bitterness written all over his face. Prim and I exchange looks as my mentor rises to his feet and staggers over to the window. The lights in the house opposite us are on for the first time. Cato, along with his mentor, stylist, and prep team, are inside that house, probably talking strategy just as we are. It takes all my self-control not to rush out to the woods to grab my bow and shoot Cato in the head, just as I promised I would on top of the Cornucopia.

"So what do we do, Haymitch?" Mom asks, a fear in her voice that I haven't heard since the games. "What does my baby do?"

I look at her, oddly touched by this display of emotion. Things have been better since I got back from the games, but this is still the most emotional she's been in front of me.

Haymitch turns to face her, a stupid grin on his face. "Whatever President Snow wants her to do!" he says, spreading his arms wide. His grin has turned manic and I scowl, my longing for Peeta heightening to a painful level. He would know how to calm Haymitch down, how to make him be serious and not bitter.

"That's very helpful, thanks," I say in a dry voice. Haymitch ignores me, instead turning to face the window again.

"Cato Bodea may be a vicious monster, but he's not clueless. You can bet his mentor isn't. What are they planning, I wonder?"

"Does it matter?" I ask. Haymitch looks over his shoulder, disgust and bewilderment on his face.

"Of _course_ it matters, sweetheart," he says in the most biting voice he can muster, slurring his words a little. "You two are a team now, like it or not. You both want the same thing—to come out of this alive. Cato isn't as selfless or as heroic as you are, you know," he continues, his sarcasm almost a physical presence. "You can bet he's going to do whatever it takes to stay alive, _whatever_ it takes." He stops for a moment, his face going blank, before snapping his fingers in the air. "That's it! That's our strategy."

"Excuse me?" I ask, not understanding. Haymitch wags a finger at me in impatience as he hurries back to the table.

"That's our strategy. Whatever their strategy is, we go with it. This can't be the first time in history that the Capitol has a problematic Victor on its hands, and District 2 has its fair share of Victors. Let them lead. We'll follow. We'll be a united front, just like Snow wants."

"I'm not befriending him," I say in a flat voice. "I'll be civil on the tour and say what I'm supposed to during the interview, but beyond that…I can't stand the sight of him, Haymitch. I barely made it through the car ride."

My mentor's eyes pop as he flips the dining table over, the crash making the chandelier swing overhead. I rise to my feet to avoid it, pushing Prim out of the way as I go.

"Well then I hope you can stand the sight of everyone you love being dead, sweetheart!" he says, a sort of insanity showing in his eyes. "Your mother. Your sister. Gale. Gale's family, his mother and those sweet three little kids. Me. That twit Effie Trinket. Hell, probably even that little girl from 11's family. All dead. Just like that. Snow won't stop until you yield, Katniss. Dictators don't tolerate insubordination. I should know." As he talks, the anger leaves him and is replaced by a sort of shaking sadness I can't understand.

"Haymitch…" I start, and I'm surprised when my mom puts a hand on my shoulder to quiet me.

"Tell her," she says in a quiet voice. Haymitch's shoulders slump forward as he drops into the closest chair. He hangs his head and remains quiet for so long that I wonder if he's passed out from his hangover. Finally, he speaks.

"I wasn't always this cute and cuddly, you know," he says. "Back when I won my games…well, I was rather like your friend Gale in that I didn't have much respect for the Capitol. Snow couldn't have that. To make a long story short, Snow saw to it that my mother, brother, and girlfriend all met their ends within a month after my victory."

I say nothing, not knowing what to say. Peeta, with his way with words, would have the perfect thing to say, just the right amount of measured sympathy and tact, but words are not my strong suit. Haymitch is bent over in the chair, crying. Everyone in the room pretends not to notice.

"I won't let it happen again, Haymitch," I say finally. "None of you are going to die."

Haymitch doesn't respond and, a tender look on her face, my mother moves in to comfort him. He waves her away but she stays by his side anyway. He looks up at me through his messy crop of blonde hair, tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Do what Snow tells you to do," he says in a shaky voice. I nod before hurrying out of the room, unable to handle such an emotional scene. I race up the stairs and don't stop until I reach my room.

"Peeta, I need you," I whisper as I grasp my father's jacket in my fists. I'm shaking just as much as Haymitch is downstairs, though no one is upstairs to comfort me. I walk to my window, where I can see the house that now houses Cato Bodea. The lights are on in the window across from me. The curtains are drawn, making the inside appear to be just a block of golden light. A male silhouette stands in the window and I clutch the jacket tighter, wondering what tomorrow will bring.

Ok guys I know this one is on the short side, but that's because the next chapter is going to be pretty long, full of drama, and centered nearly 100% on Cato-Katniss interaction. So gear up for tomorrow, folks :D Leave me a review telling me what you think so far.


	5. Chapter 5

**Valley of the Dolls—Chapter Four**

I slip down the stairs early the next morning, being careful to skip all the creaking steps. I'm going hunting, as I always do, but I'm leaving rather earlier than normal. Normally I wait for Mom to make breakfast, something we have every day now. Normally I see Prim off to school and meet Gale at the mine entrance to tell him goodbye for the day. Today, I'm on an avoidance mission. I don't want to hear Mom's and Prim's questions about what I'm going to do about Cato. I don't know myself. I know what I implicitly promised Haymitch, but all I really said was that I wasn't going to let anyone die. I will figure out a way to fix all of this. Gale and I will talk it out after he's done in the mines for the day and we will figure it out. Cato Bodea will not disrupt my life here. He's done quite enough of that already.

I grab my spare pack from the closet and make a mental note to stop by Madge's house to pick up the clothes and bag I had her hide for me. These clothes, my spare set, are several years old and would be a better fit for Prim than they are for me, but they'll do in a pinch. I grab a banana, an unimaginable luxury, out of the kitchen and hurry out the door, turning to lock the door behind me.

"Now this is more what I pictured."

I jump and spin around, holding my key out like it's some kind of weapon. Cato is standing on the sidewalk, his arms crossed over his chest with a smirk on his face. I scowl.

"What?" I snap, not moving from my place. I have the urge to go right back inside, but I know he would think I was intimidated if I did that. I am not intimidated. I refuse to be.

He takes a few steps toward me and I stiffen, keeping my arm extended, key in hand.

"I just never pictured you as the dress kind of girl," he says. He looks down at me and plucks the key from my hand. "Very threatening. I'm impressed."

"Give that back," I say. To my surprise, he does, tossing it for me to catch. I scowl, slip the key into my back pocket, and brush past him, digging my shoulder into his arm as I pass.

"So where are we going?" he asks, keeping pace with me. I say nothing. I have no answer. I can hardly go hunt with Cato watching my every move. He would probably report me just to get in good with Snow.

"You're ignoring me now?" he asks. "Really? Wow. Have you always wanted to throw your life away this badly, or is it just since the games?"

"Shut up," I growl, my nails digging into my palms as I quicken my pace. Early morning fog clouds the streets, leaving dew on my clothes as I pass. I head for the center of town, not knowing where else to go. District 12 isn't exactly a hopping tourist destination. The Hob is off-limits, as is my sanctuary with Gale out in the woods. And every time I imagine taking Cato to the Seam and seeing the disdainful look on his face, I see red. That rules out pretty much everywhere except for town.

"Why?" he asks. "It's true. All you have to do is talk to me for five damn minutes and you won't even do that."

"I don't talk to murderers," I say, Peeta's broken body flashing across my mind.

"That's funny, considering you are one," he says. I stop in my tracks and whirl around to face him, a biting retort on the tip of my tongue, but the sound of yelling cuts me off. I frown, knowing that nothing good can be going on, and, deciding to ignore Cato, I start to jog toward the sound, toward the center of town.

The mist obscures my vision somewhat but I can see that a rather large crowd has gathered in the town square. Most of these people shouldn't even be awake yet, let alone out in the middle of town. A man's scream mixes with the sound of a whip and I hurry forward. The fog clears as I approach and I scream as I recognize the man tied to the whipping post that hasn't been used in living memory.

"Gale! No!" I shout and race forward. A Peacekeeper I don't recognize holds a whip aloft, ready to bring it down on Gale's bare back again. I throw myself between them just as the whip comes down, lashing me across the face. The sting of it burns like fire but I barely notice in the moment.

"Move," the Peacekeeper commands. I stand my ground.

"What has he done?" I demand. "Tell me what he's done."

"Disrespecting a commanding officer," the Peacekeeper spits. "Now, _move_."

I stay right where I am, knowing that the charge is a ridiculous one. Everyone in District 12 has "disrespected a commanding officer" at one point or another, but no one's been whipped for it. The Peacekeeper, angry at my defiance, pulls out a gun and aims it straight at my chest.

"Go ahead," I shout, holding my arms out wide both to present a target and to protect Gale. "Go. Ahead."

"I don't think you want to do that."

I watch as Cato steps out of the mist and puts a large hand on the Peacekeeper's shoulder. The Peacekeeper looks up at him, his mouth twisted in a snarl.

"That's Katniss Everdeen," Cato says, his voice quiet but still unbearably loud in the silence of the square. "One of the Victors of the 74th Hunger Games. They call her the Girl on Fire. And that's her cousin you're whipping."

The Peacekeeper looks from Cato to me and back to Cato, his snarl gradually giving way to frustration. He fires off a warning shot in the air before stowing his gun away.

"Tell your _cousin_ to watch his mouth," he spits at me before stalking away. His words have a double meaning, but I can't analyze it now. Gale needs me. I turn and drop to my knees, hurrying to untie Gale from the whipping post. The skin on his back has been torn to ribbons. The muscle shows through in some places and I pray that my mother, the local healer, will be able to fix him. As I lean a semi-conscious Gale against me, I feel a shadow looming over me.

"Now will you talk to me?" Cato asks.

"Kind of busy right now," I grunt back, Gale's weight threatening to make me collapse. Cato grabs my shoulder and twists me around to face him, nearly making me drop Gale.

"You owe me," he says, his eyes dark with malice just as they were in the games. "Doubly now."

"I owe you _nothing_," I snarl, bowing a bit under Gale's weight. Cato smirks.

"Well, we can argue about who owes who over how the games ended, but you can't deny that I just saved your boy."

I glance at Gale, whose face has lost all color, and my jaw sets.

"Wait here," I say to Cato. He moves to help me carry Gale and I stiffen. "No," I say. "_Wait here._"

I start to drag Gale toward my house, moving as gingerly as I can. I whisper to him that it's going to be alright, that I'm not going to let him die, and my stomach ties itself in knots at the thought. Now that the Peacekeeper is gone, the people in the crowd move forward to help. I recognize some of Gale's mining buddies and let them help me carry him.

"What happened?" I ask. One of the men shakes his head.

"Nothing," he says. "Gale made a joke about old Cray and before we knew it he was arrested for 'disrespecting a commanding officer.'"

I frown at this news. Cray is the Head Peacekeeper of District 12. He's miserly and a lecher but overall harmless. He would never order a whipping on Gale, not when he's one of our prime buyers.

"Who was that Peacekeeper?" I ask.

"Don't know," another man speaks up. "We all thought he was part of Snow's entourage, but it seems like he decided to stick around."

The Peacekeeper's words echo in my mind as we make it into the Victors' Village. _Tell your COUSIN to watch his mouth._ And all I can think is, Snow knows. He knows Gale isn't my cousin. What else he knows, I don't care to think about. All I know is that this whipping was a warning, a warning designed to scare me straight. It's worked.

"What happened?" Mom cries as she bursts out of the house to help us carry Gale into the kitchen.

"Prim, fetch the morphling," she orders as she ties her hair back and the men lay Gale face down on the kitchen table. Prim hurries to obey and I suddenly feel like retching. I've never had a high tolerance for blood, but seeing Gale like this is enough to make me want to pass out. I force myself to move deeper into the room and I kneel down next to Gale's face as my mom begins assessing the damage and applying alcohol to the wounds to clean. The sting of it wakes Gale up. He shouts in pain and I stroke his face, tears suddenly in my eyes.

"Shh," I whisper as I wipe the sweat from his brow. "She's fixing it." Gale nods and squares his jaw, preparing for the pain.

"It's my fault this happened to you," I continue, leaving my hand on his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Gale. So sorry. It won't happen again." His brow wrinkles in confusion but I kiss his forehead and leave the room before he can ask me what I mean. Gale, with his hatred of the Capitol, will tell me that giving into Snow means that I lose, but all it really means is that I care about what happens to the people I love.

Cato is waiting right where I left him. The square is deserted now; it's just Cato and the fog. I'm far enough away that I don't have to say anything to him, so I have time to really take in the fact that Cato Bodea is standing in my town square. He's just as tall as Gale but broader; he made even the Peacekeeper look small. My breathing is shallow as I approach and I force myself to take at least one long, deep breath before stopping a few feet in front of him.

"You actually came back," he says, surprised. I nod before indicating that he should follow me.

"Aren't we going to talk?" he asks.

"Yes but not here," I reply. He gives a short laugh before falling in next to me.

"You aren't as stupid as you look," he says. "That's good to know."

"Are you trying to make me angry?" I ask, keeping my gaze focused straight ahead.

"No," he says. "I don't need to do anything to make you angry. It's your default setting."

I laugh a laugh without humor. "You've got that right."

He says nothing in reply and we continue in silence until we reach the Seam, the least offensive of the options for where I can take Cato.

"What is this?" he asks, disgust in his voice.

"My home," I reply. "My real home."

Hordes of dirty children, wearing clothes that wouldn't pass for rags in the Capitol, pass us on their way to school. They look at Cato and me like we're something to fear, like we belong on a different planet, even though I've known them for their entire lives.

"You're very popular," Cato notes as the children keep their heads down to avoid eye contact with me. I don't reply, knowing he doesn't expect one, and hurry to the house that used to belong to me. I open the door, whose hinges have rusted from lack of use, and Cato walks inside with his nose wrinkled. I shut the door behind us and look at the place I know so well. It's covered in dust now, but most everything looks the same as I remember it. All of our personal effects are gone but the furniture is still here.

"So," I say, standing near the door, keeping my eyes on Cato's hulking form. "You wanted to talk. Talk."

He brushes dust off the couch and sits down, putting his feet up on the table and irritating me. "Are you just going to stand there?" When I make no move to sit down, he laughs. "What do you think, I'm going to stab you as soon as you turn around? We're playing a game, Katniss, but not the same one we played six months ago."

I stiffen at his reference to the games. He doesn't take his eyes off me and I realize that he isn't going to speak again until I sit down. With a huff I sit down in a chair opposite him, not bothering to wipe the dust away.

"This is stupid," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. He nods and leans back, making himself comfortable in my home.

"Tell me about it," he says. "I thought that after the games were over I would be rid of you for good. No such luck."

"If you had let me die, you wouldn't have ever had to deal with me again," I say, sitting on my hands to stop them from shaking. Cato laughs.

"Yeah. Because that would have worked out so well."

"Why?" I ask, unable to believe I'm actually having this conversation. "Why did you stop me?"

Cato frowns, irritated, and leans forward. "I _saved_ you. Call it what it is. You honestly don't know?"

I shake my head and he rolls his eyes.

"If me killing one of you is enough to cause unrest in the Capitol, what do you think killing both of you would have done?"

"You can't tell me you did this because you were worried about what the Capitol would think of me dying," I say.

"No, I was worried about what the Capitol would think of me killing you," he says. "I could care less if you drop dead, Katniss Everdeen. Or at least I could have before our conversation with the president yesterday. I've seen what it's like for Victors who weren't 'supposed' to win the games. Their life isn't pretty. It's all about reputation, Katniss. I had nothing to gain by killing you; you had already won and were the Capitol's obvious favorite. But when you decided to go ahead and commit suicide, basically…well, I saw an opportunity and I took it."

"You saved me…to save your reputation in the Capitol," I say, putting the pieces together and horrorstruck by the pettiness of it all.

"Bingo," Cato says breezily, leaning back again and crossing his arms behind his head. "I didn't kill the star-crossed lovers. No, I did what I had to do to survive, and I saved a heartbroken girl from a meaningless death." His voice has turned mocking and I feel like throwing up. Haymitch tried to tell me this months ago but I was too angry to listen.

"You should have let me die," I say. "You wouldn't have to deal with this now if you had."

"No, but I'm sure I'd still be having some kind of problem," he says. "You heard Snow. 'If I thought killing you would do any good, I would do it in a heartbeat.' How many people in the Capitol do you think would be calling for the head of the monster who murdered the star-crossed lovers from District 12?"

"Your life's in danger either way," I say.

"Yes, but less so this way," he replies. "And even less so if you stop being so stupid." He puts his feet down on the ground and leans toward me. I resist the urge to lean back. I will not be intimidated.

"That Peacekeeper is a spy from Snow, you know," he says, no humor in his voice now. "He's here to make sure we 'play nice.' That we do what we're supposed to. And that whipping—"

"Was a warning," I interrupt. "I know."

Cato nods. "Good," he says. After a moment, he says, "So…your cousin, huh?" I can tell he doesn't believe it for a second.

"I—"

"I don't care," he interrupts. "Call him whatever you want. But stop hanging around him."

"What?" I say, outrage filling me and making my stomach boil. Cato frowns.

"Did you not understand the warning?" he asks. "The Capitol needs to believe that you and I are friends. You hanging around someone else is just a distraction. And a dangerous one."

"Well, I'm not exactly going to have time to hang around Gale, seeing as he works twelve hours a day, is currently passed out on morphling, and I leave tomorrow," I say coolly. Cato scowls, realizing that I haven't agreed to stop seeing Gale, and eventually rolls his eyes.

"Fine," he says. "Whatever. So let's talk strategy."

"I wasn't aware we needed a strategy to be friends," I say. My tolerance for Cato Bodea has waned to a dangerously low level. I get up and leave the house, not caring if he follows me.

Author's Note: Hey guys! So what do you think of this chapter? Pretty actiony, no? Lots of Cato-Katniss interaction. I wanted to give a quick shout-out of thanks to all my reviewers and followers, especially to user Strawberryluv. Your review was very helpful to me. I'll get to working on the next chapter right away. Happy reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Valley of the Dolls—Chapter Five**

"Where's Cinna?" I ask, flinching as Venia rips a strip of wax off my leg.

"He'll be along soon," Flavius answers as he massages some kind of special cream into my hair. "He's just putting the finishing touches on your dress."

I make a noise of assent and try to relax, but my mind is full of Gale and Peeta. Gale finally woke up about an hour ago; the morphling knocked him out for the rest of yesterday clean till this morning. He can barely walk, though, and certainly won't be returning to the mines anytime soon. I worry about how Hazelle, his mother, and Gale's siblings Rory, Vick, and Posy will survive without Gale's mining income. I won't be around to hunt for them; my Capitol earnings will be the only income they get besides the meager amount Hazelle makes doing laundry for the people in town. At this rate Rory will have to start taking out tesserae, something I know Gale would never be able to forgive. I feel the same way about Prim.

And Peeta…oh, Peeta. If he had survived he would be here right now, getting ready to give our victory speech together. We would be together if Cato Bodea had died in the arena.

"Ok, that ought to do it," Octavia says after blowing on my nails to dry them. I look down at them and am a little surprised. In the past, Octavia has painted intricate designs of flames on my nails, but this time she's painted them a dull, matte shade of red. No design, just the color. I stand as they back away from me and look at myself in the mirror. My makeup too is simple; I look like a prettier, more perfect version of myself. My skin is glowing and blemish-free, my lips sparkle, my eyes are wide and sparkling, but gone are the crazy colors and designs. Gone is the artistry.

"Hello, Katniss."

I turn and see Cinna standing in the doorway. The urge to run and embrace him is strong, but I make myself hold back. Cinna's face is a blank mask, devoid of any emotion. He looks older than he did the last time I saw him; despite his youth, I can see wrinkles starting to form around his eyes.

"Are you ready to get dressed?" he asks. I nod and walk over to him, wondering why he looks so upset. I step into the dress he holds out for me and barely dare to breathe as he wordlessly zips it up the back. Venia offers me a pair of heels and I step into them, letting her slip the back straps over my ankles.

"Go ahead and look," Cinna says. I walk over to the mirror and understand.

"It's the color of ash," I say flatly. My prep team, as always, is uncomfortable with my bluntness but I can tell by the resignation in Cinna's eyes that I'm right. The dress is a simple, sleeveless sheath that reaches just above my knees, made of a satiny material that is the color of storm clouds. Cinna always works symbolism into his pieces. Before the games, I was the Girl on Fire. I was magical, someone the Capitol should pay attention to. Now, the Girl on Fire has lost her spark. She has faded to ash.

"You look very lovely," Cinna says in an equally flat voice. I nod, tell them thank you for their work, and walk out of the room. Haymitch is waiting for me in the living room along with Mom and Prim. He nods approvingly at my clothing and hands me a sheet of paper.

"The Capitol-approved speech for Victors to give on their tours," he says with an eye roll. Turning serious, he adds, "Can you talk about Peeta without crying?"

"What?" I ask, his words making no sense.

"Can you talk about Peeta without crying?" he repeats. "Victors usually say a few words at the end of their speech about the fallen tributes from that district, but this time around it's a little more complicated. You can't sob about Peeta's death and forgive Cato in the same week. It'll come across as inauthentic. By all means, look sad; you can't afford to appear heartless. But you have to keep it together. Can you?"

"I can keep it together," I tell him, grasping the paper firmly and looking Haymitch right in the eyes. I disappointed him the last time we talked. I need to show him that I can do what needs to be done.

"Good," he says, but before he can say anything more there's a sharp knock at the door. My mother goes to answer it and Prim steps up to gently hug me, being careful not to wrinkle my dress.

"You can do it," she says. "You can do anything you set your mind to, Girl on Fire. I believe in you."

Her words threaten to bring tears to the surface but I push them back as she pulls away and smiles at me. I smile back and ruffle her hair just like I used to. She's gotten so much taller in the past six months. She won't be a little girl much longer, as hard as that is for me to realize.

"Now, why don't we set up for pictures? The study will do well, I think," Effie says from the hallway, talking to a crew of cameramen that can barely fit inside the foyer with their complicated equipment.

"Katniss, darling!" Effie cries as she spots me, throwing her arms wide and tottering over on her stilettos to kiss me daintily on both cheeks. "You look a treat." She's being nice, I know, so I smile at her and thank her for the compliment.

"I didn't know we were going to be taking pictures," I say, eyeing the cameramen warily. They look like some kind of overgrown bugs with their all-black clothing and huge cameras strapped to them like protective shells.

"Well, it's not exactly customary, but you're just so popular," Effie says. Her smile has grown garish and false and I know that this is part of Snow's public relations campaign. He wants the Capitol to see that I can function on my own, that I don't need Peeta to survive. I wish someone could show me the same thing, because I'm not at all sure it's true.

New voices fill the hall as the cameramen filter into the study and I look up, alarmed.

"Yes, we'll do individual shots and then some together," an unfamiliar woman's voice calls out. I peer past the cameramen and the sight of Cato with his entourage takes my breath away.

"We _match_," I hiss at Haymitch, seizing his arm and pulling him in close to me. "Why do we _match_?"

"Why do you think you match, sweetheart?"

For the same reason that Peeta and I matched. Solidarity. Unity. To show that we are a team.

"Make him change," I grind out, my fingers aching from the pressure I'm applying to Haymitch's arm. He tosses me off, making me stumble a bit.

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen," he says. "President Snow had final approval over the outfits for the trip. You're going to go out looking just like you are."

The argument lost, I let Haymitch usher me into the study, where the cameramen are setting up lights. Mom and Prim follow me in, though they stay far back so they won't be in the way of the shot. My blood boils as I watch Cato introduce himself to them, smile at them, and shake their hands. This is the first time my mother and sister are meeting the boy who swore to kill me, then stopped me from doing the deed myself. They watched him kill and kill and kill just like everyone else did and now he's standing there smiling at them like he expects them to worship the ground he walks on. I want to stand between them, to protect my family from the monster from District 2.

The monster walks into the room, stops a few feet from me, and nods. I nod back and keep my eyes focused on the cameramen as they finish setting up.

"Alright!" a woman dressed head to toe in sapphire blue barks. "Let's get this show on the road." Turning to me, she smiles so brightly that I wonder if I'll go blind. "I'm Daphne," she says as though she's speaking to a small child, extending a hand for me to shake. "Cato's escort."

"Nice to meet you," I say, smiling back and realizing that her teeth shine so bright because she's had diamonds implanted into them. They reflect from the dozens of lights the camera crew have set up for the photo shoot.

"Well, ladies first," she says, ushering me to the center of the room. "Effie, what do you think? How should she pose?"

Effie moves in to pose me, I smile, Haymitch tells me to really smile, I look at Prim and manage it, and the cameras flash, leaving my vision filled with stars. We repeat this process at least five more times and then it's Cato's turn. I keep my face impassive as he poses, trying to convince myself to be ok with his grey suit and tie that are the same color and material as my dress. He poses with ease, smiling and even winking at the camera, and I'm struck by the fact that he was truly born to be a Victor. He was born to this life. I'm the one pretending.

Soon it's time for the two of us to take pictures. Haymitch and Daphne argue over our poses; Haymitch insists that we look too much like a couple but Daphne says that it will be good for publicity. Effie manages to get them to a truce. We take one picture together, with me on the left and Cato on the right. We face the camera but our bodies are slightly angled toward each other. This is the only picture in which we do not smile. We are Victors in this picture, not Capitol celebrities.

"Alright, that's a wrap," Daphne calls out, causing Effie to glare at her. Effie's used to being in charge here but Daphne appears to have no problem bull-dozing her way through. "We need to hurry up and get them to the town square for their speech."

Haymitch hands me back my paper as the Capitol people bustle around us, packing up, and he puts a hand on my shoulder.

"You can do this," he says in a rare show of tangible support. "You—"

"Thanks, Haymitch," I interrupt, knowing that I'm barely holding it together as is. I gently remove his hand from my shoulder and walk out of the room, keeping my head held high. I shield my eyes from the sun as I walk, my eyes feeling extra sensitive today. Everyone else in the district is already in the square, waiting for us to arrive. I wince as my shoes rub against my toes, making it impossible for me to walk at a normal pace and very easy for Cato to catch up to me.

"So do you know what you're saying?" he asks.

"Don't worry about it," I say, my eyes on the crowd ahead of us. He makes a disgusted sort of laugh and shakes his head.

"You are unbelievable," he says before quickening his pace, leaving me behind. I don't care until I see Peacekeepers making the crowd part for Cato to enter. All I can see is an entitled boy from a wealthy, Capitol-friendly district making hundreds of people move so he can give them a meaningless, insincere speech that he'll forget about in five minutes. My fists tighten and I force myself to smile so no one will notice. Today has to be better than yesterday. I have to actually act like I am ok with Cato still existing.

Cato and I take our seats on stage. Daphne and Effie silently argue for a moment about who's going to introduce us and to my surprise Effie wins. She takes the microphone from an incensed Daphne and waits for the crowd to quiet.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen of District 12," she says, her voice oozing too much sweetness. "Today we have the distinct honor of kicking of the Victory Tour for the Victors of the 74th Annual Hunger Games! Yes, isn't it exciting? I'm sure it's especially exciting for you as one of your own is one of the Victors! Please give the lovely Katniss Everdeen a round of applause and your attention. She has a lovely speech prepared for you all."

The district applauds quite harder than they have at any other Victory Tour, but my eyes are on Peeta's family. His father is clapping half-heartedly and everyone else stands still, their eyes locked on me as I move to take Effie's place at the microphone, Capitol-approved speech in hand.

I let my eyes roam over the sea of people as I speak, not letting them linger on any one face. Eye contact implies emotion, and too much emotion during this speech could be catastrophic. The speech is Capitol garbage mostly, about what an honor it is to win the games and how I'm grateful for the opportunity to compete and bring honor to my district. Soon, I reach the last paragraph, the conclusion, and I stop. Now's the time to talk about Peeta. I take a deep breath, gearing myself up to talk about the boy with the bread.

"This speech wouldn't be complete without mentioning the other tribute from District 12," I say, daring to shoot a glance at Peeta's family. "Peeta Mellark. I know you all grieve his loss just as I do. He was a true hero in the arena, doing what it took to keep both me and himself safe. He never complained and always had a smile on his face." I stop for a moment, overcome with memories of Peeta, but force myself to keep going. "Before the games began, Peeta and I made ourselves a promise. We swore to each other that whichever of us made it out of the arena alive would do their best to move on with their life and not pine for…for lost love." I gulp before continuing. "It's hard, but I try to do just that each and every day, and I want you to do the same. It's what Peeta would want." Unable to continue, I give a nod to indicate that I'm done and step back from the microphone. That last part was a lie in a way. Peeta and I made no such pact, not verbally anyways. But it's what the Capitol wants to hear, so it's what I say.

District 12 claps harder than I've ever heard them clap. The sound is deafening to my ears and I resist the urge to cover my ears. Don't clap for me, I think. Don't clap for me when the boy with the bread is dead.

Effie says something about how my speech was lovely before introducing Cato. My district is silent as Peeta's murderer takes the microphone.

"Wow, how to follow that up?" he says, obviously hoping for a laugh. No one gives him one. He clears his throat and grows serious. "I agree with everything Katniss said. It's truly an honor to win the Hunger Games, and I'm honored to share the title of Victor with such a spectacular girl." I flinch but he keeps talking. "I want to personally offer my condolences to Peeta's family for their loss. You all have been very gracious to me while I've been here, so I wanted to thank you for that. And Katniss—" He turns to look at me and I grow stiff as a board. "I just wanted to tell you again how sorry I am for having to be the one to kill Peeta."

All breath leaves me as Cato steps away from the mic, ignoring the fact that no one is clapping. I count the moments until Effie dismisses us and I rush offstage. My mom and Prim are waiting but I barely see them. I wait till Cato has come offstage and we are away from the public eye to slap him.

"What the hell was that for?" he demands, the anger I know so well from the arena flaring up in him. He cups his cheek and I can see Haymitch running towards us to break up the fight.

"Don't talk about Peeta," I say. "Ever."

"Oh yeah, that'll go over real well with Caesar," he says, mocking me. "Oh, I prefer not to talk about that. Yeah, right. Get over it, Katniss. This is the game we're playing. Step up or step out."

I go to slap him again but Haymitch grabs my wrist before I can.

"_Calm down_," he commands. He doesn't let go of my wrist until I've taken several deep breaths. Cato huffs and stalks away and I feel like collapsing.

"You're lucky no one saw that," Haymitch says. "Snow would not have approved."

"I know," I say.

"I'm not so sure you do," Haymitch replies. "Maybe you should pay your friend Gale a visit. It might help you remember what's at stake here." He walks away, leaving me shaking with anger and sadness.

A/N: Hello there! Long chapter O.O But an exciting one, hopefully. Things are about to heat up in Panem, so stay tuned for the next chapter. Please leave me a review, I need to know what you guys think so I can improve! :) Happy reading~


	7. Chapter 7

**Valley of the Dolls—Chapter Six**

"It's only a week, Gale," I say, my arms wrapped around my chest to shield me from the unseasonable chill. Despite my mother's stern warnings that he needs bed rest, Gale insisted on being up and about to see me off. He doesn't want me to leave, even though he knows I don't have a choice. He stands shirtless despite the cool weather; his back cannot bear the touch of anything heavier than the bandages that protect his wounds from infection.

"A week too long," he says, not looking at me. His gaze is away from town, towards the woods that are our special place. "I don't like the idea of you in the Capitol, Katniss. Not when so many people want you dead."

"They don't want me dead," I say. "They want Peeta alive."

"They need to accept that Peeta's dead and let you get on with your life," he replies, and I wonder if he's talking about the Capitol citizens or about me.

"I don't want to talk about this with you right now," I say, looking down at my slate-grey heels. "I don't want to leave on a fight."

"Who's fighting?" he asks and tips my chin up to look at him. He's smiling at me and for a minute I can imagine things being the way they used to be. Just me and Gale out in the woods, doing what we do best, together.

"Are you almost ready to go, Katniss?"

I turn and see Cato standing a few feet away. He's smiling but I can tell by the look in his eyes that he's still angry. His cheek is tinged slightly pink from where I struck him. I'm surprised his prep team hasn't covered it up yet. Then again, the cameramen have all packed up already and District 12 isn't exactly Snow's target audience.

"Almost," I say and turn back to Gale. To my amazement Cato moves in closer to us, invading our personal space.

"I told you not to talk to him anymore," Cato says through his teeth, which are still barred in the barest resemblance of a smile.

"Excuse me?" Gale asks, taking a step still closer so that he and Cato are nearly nose to nose. Cato surreptitiously tosses his head to his right and I see the same Peacekeeper that whipped Gale watching us. I make myself smile and, gagging a little on the inside, put a hand on Cato's forearm.

"Ok, no fighting," I whisper. Gale looks down at my hand in disbelief. He leans down and chastely kisses my cheek. From an outsider's perspective, it looks like two cousins saying goodbye, but his words chill my blood.

"Have fun playing your game," he breathes in my ear before taking a few steps backward and walking away, leaving me rooted to the spot like a statue. The Peacekeeper, satisfied that Gale is gone, heads off in the opposite direction.

"I hope you know how much I hate you," I tell Cato, letting my hand fall away from his arm.

"Trust me, the feeling's mutual."

"No," I say as I head toward the waiting train. "I don't think it is." Whatever annoyance or irritation Cato feels at me for having to play this stupid game and share the title of Victor pales in comparison to what I feel. I'm the one that has lost something. Cato has done nothing but gain.

"Congratulations on your speech, Katniss, dear," Effie says as she ushers me into the waiting train. My mother and Prim are standing at the platform and I wave at them. We've already said our goodbyes for the week but I have the urge to tell them just one more time that I will miss them and be thinking about them. I feel like I'm getting ready to enter the games all over again.

"Thanks, Effie," I say, but she isn't done.

"You really did a lovely job," she continues, holding eye contact with me. "When you started talking about Peeta I teared up a little bit, but it was so inspirational for you to encourage the District to accept his passing."

I wonder then if Effie is as clueless as she pretends to be. I smile at her and she smiles back and I know we've understood each other.

"Good," Haymitch says as soon as I enter the cabin. "That was just the right amount of emotion. Lover in mourning, but quiet mourning." He takes a shot of whiskey, tossing his head back like a wolf getting ready to howl. His bloodshot eyes indicate that he's already quite drunk and I groan. I do not mix well with a drunk Haymitch.

"Are you _drunk_?" Cato asks with disgust as he walks in behind me.

"He's always like that," I say. "Well, unless anyone needs me I'll be in my room."

I turn to leave but Cato's voice stops me.

"Are you serious? We're still not going to talk about our strategy?"

I stop, look at him, and actually smile a little. "Didn't you hear Haymitch? I got it just right. If you want to discuss your strategy with your mentor, then go ahead. I'm not stopping you."

I walk out of the room and down the hallway, a smirk on my face. I'm not going to let Cato bully me into anything. I reach out to open the door but before I can something slams me against the wall, knocking the wind out of me. I try to catch my breath but Cato's face is inches from mine. Shocked and angry, I try to yank against his hold on my upper arms but it's like fighting against a piece of stone.

"Get off me," I snarl, kicking him in the shin. It does less than nothing.

"No," he says, his tone as sharp as the sword he used in the arena. He isn't putting on any kind of act now. This is Cato showing his true colors.

"I'm sick of you acting like you're somehow better than the rest of us," he says, his fingers tightening on my arms. I try to move my leg to get a better shot at his groin but he blocks me, never looking away from my face.

"You're _nothing_, you know that?" he says. "Worse than nothing. Just some bitch from _District 12_ who got lucky. I hope you thank your little boyfriend's corpse every day because without him 'confessing his undying love for you' during the interview you would be dead right now. I would have wrung the life from your skinny neck and _I_ would be the only Victor here, like I'm supposed to be. Don't get it twisted, _Girl on Fire_—however I act around you in public, this is how I really feel about you." His tirade finished, Cato spits in my face. I close my eyes and gasp in shock, though the shock is quickly replaced by a furious outrage.

"Not so nice, is it?" he asks, his nails breaking the skin on my right arm. "Play nice with me, Katniss, or I won't be nice back." He smirks and, after a moment, lets go of me and backs away. I'm breathing hard and I can feel small rivulets of blood racing down the inside of my arm. His smirk widens and he starts to walk away, arrogance obvious in his every step. Fury overtaking me, I grab a large ceramic vase off a nearby table and, screaming in pent-up frustration, smash it over Cato's head. The force of it knocks him to the ground and I jump on top of him, punching and clawing any piece of him I can reach.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, you disgusting excuse for a human being!" I shout, my voice rasping in my throat. "I hope Snow kills you. I hope he does because if he doesn't I'm doing it myself! Don't you _ever_ talk about Peeta like that again, do you hear me?" Out of words, I strike him again and again and again, knowing it's only a matter of time before he has enough presence of mind to toss me off him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I hear someone call out. Hands grab my arms and legs, lifting me off of Cato Bodea. He looks up at me with abject hatred and I kick against whoever's holding me back, my mouth twisted into a feral snarl.

"What's going on here?" the same voice demands. I angle my head and see a man that I instantly recognize Brutus, one of the more popular Victors from District 2. Short and stocky but strong as an ox, with no hair and eyes that are so grey they seem almost colorless, he holds me still but focuses on Cato, who is still on the ground, and I realize that he must be Cato's mentor.

"I told you no fighting," he says in a stern voice, confirming my suspicion. Cato spits on the ground in disgust.

"She started it," he says, still glaring at me.

"I did not, you absolute—"

"_Enough_," Brutus says in a voice harsh enough to send me into silence. "I'm not going to make you apologize as neither of you would mean it anyway but if you can't get along then just stay away from each other."

"Gladly," I say, oddly vindicated that Cato's mentor is taking my side in this. Brutus lets me go and without a backward glance I go into my room, slamming the door behind me. I can hear Brutus and Cato arguing outside but I ignore them. I strip out of my dress and heels, beyond anxious to get the Capitol's costume off, and drop them down the electronic laundry shoot on my way in to the bathroom. I fiddle with the dozens of different controls in the shower, choosing them at random, but pause when I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My face and chest are flushed from anger and exertion. My hair, perfectly coiffed in my signature braid this morning, has come loose and is frizzy around my face. I run a finger over the stripes of dried blood on my arm and gingerly touch the hand-shaped bruises Cato left behind. They lie to you when they say you've won the games. There's no such thing as winning the Hunger Games. Once you're reaped, you never stop playing.

I barely feel the water and soap as I shower. All I can think about is having to visit District 11 tomorrow and see Rue's family. I've been so overcome with grief for Peeta that I haven't mourned my ally as much as I should have. Once I'm dried, dressed, and in bed, I whistle Rue's song until I fall asleep, my sheets bunched inside my fists.

The next morning, I dress in a white blouse, grey trousers, and matching blazer that Cinna laid out for me. The heels are the same as yesterday. I wonder what my Capitol outfit will look like. The districts don't care for obvious reasons, but the Capitol won't tolerate their newfound hero wearing such simple clothing. I look down at the long sleeves of my jacket as Flavius braids my hair and I wonder if it was chosen to hide the bruises on my arms.

While Venia is doing my makeup and Octavia attends to my toe nails, Haymitch enters the bathroom, a stern look on his face.

"You should knock first," I say. "I could have been naked."

Haymitch doesn't smile, only sits on the counter in front of me, blocking my view of Venia's work.

"What happened with Cato yesterday?" he asks in a quiet voice.

"Nothing," I say. He knocks over some bottles of different creams, shattering them and making Venia gasp.

"Don't lie to me," he says, his jaw so tight it looks ready to break. "What happened?"

"He got pissed at me and I got pissed back," I say, jutting my chin out a little bit. "He's upset he has to share his victory with some nobody from District 12."

"You expect him to be happy about it?" Haymitch asks in exasperation, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't care what he feels about it," I say, rising to my feet as Venia and Octavia step away, their work done. "Brutus was right. We need to just to stay away from each other until the tour is over."

"You think this is over when the tour ends?" Haymitch asks, following me out of the room. "You haven't been paying attention."

"Alright then, five minutes till show time, everyone!" Effie calls out amidst the flurry of people rushing around to get ready for our District 11 appearance. I take a deep breath, holding tight to my speech paper. I've thought about what I'm going to say about Rue and Thresh; in fact, I thought of little else last night. The hard part won't be talking about the fallen tributes. It will be facing their families.

Cato makes a mocking bow as I walk out before him and I ignore him, my eyes full of the people of District 11. I never realized how small District 12 is before now. The crowd of people stretches as far as the eye can see, all their eyes riveted on the stage on which I now stand. My palms begin to sweat as Effie introduces me and I move to stand front and center.

The speech itself is the same one I gave in my own district. The Victory Tour isn't televised, only photographed, so it allows for the monotony. I can't draw my eyes away from Rue's family as I talk. Five small children, fear and defeat in their eyes, look up at me as I speak. Her parents weep, but a man who I can only assume is her grandfather keeps a straight, stern face, his eyes locked with mine as I talk about how honored I am to have won the Hunger Games.

"I didn't know Thresh very well," I say, "but he was a true hero inside the arena. He stayed true to himself right up until the very end and I admired him for that. He chose to fight on his own, even when the Career tributes offered him an alliance." I pause before continuing. "I did have a close relationship with Rue. I immediately took to her because she reminded me of my own sister, Prim, but I became close to her because of her kindness, her innocence, and her determination to survive without becoming a cold-blooded killer. I still think about her every day. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. And I hope you see her too."

I take a shaky breath, step away from the mic and turn to walk away but a single sound stops me in my tracks. I look over my shoulder and see Rue's grandfather standing near the stage. He whistles Rue's tune once again before lifting his hand in District 12's sign of respect and admiration. My heart swells in pain and regret and, without thinking, I stride to the very edge of the stage and make the sign myself, my face a mask of unspoken emotion. Slowly, more people reciprocate the sign until the crowd is a sea of hands turned toward me. They start chanting Rue's name but to my surprise it soon gives way to my own. People are yelling, "Katniss! Katniss!" and I can do nothing but stand there, my arm raised in a silent salute to Rue.

The crowd becomes rowdy the longer it chants. Sadness gives way to anger as people start yelling and pushing. Peacekeepers hurry to bring the crowd to order but District 11 has numbers on its side. Two Peacekeepers come up behind me and grab me, linking their arms through mine and pulling me back off the stage.

"What are you doing?" I demand, my eyes on Rue's grandfather.

"It's for your own safety," one of them says as I watch two more Peacekeepers beat Rue's grandfather to his knees. Just before I'm pulled offstage, one of them puts a bullet in his head, the pop loud enough to be heard over the chanting and yelling of District 11.

"No!" I yell, but it's too late. More Peacekeepers hurry to hide the sight of District 11 from me but they cannot disguise the sounds of gunfire.

Haymitch is at my side in an instant, trying to tell me to calm down as the Peacekeepers bodily carry me to the train.

"Make it stop, make it stop," I repeat over and over again, my vision blurry with tears. Haymitch looks at me in pity.

"I can't, sweetheart," he says and for once there's no sarcasm in his voice.

The Peacekeepers don't let me go until they reach my room on the train. They shut the door firmly behind them as they leave, making it clear that I'm not supposed to follow them. I couldn't care less. I race to the toilet and vomit till I'm sure there's absolutely nothing left in my stomach. I can't unsee the horror I just witnessed. Those people were innocent. They were showing their anger at the death of a little girl who was too young to die. They weren't hurting anyone.

Once I feel capable of standing, I get up and move back to my room, unsure of what to do with myself, unable to believe what just happened.

A whirring noise catches my attention and I turn towards the television screen that takes up nearly an entire wall of the room. President Snow's face fills the screen and my stomach drops.

"You are quite a problem child, aren't you, Miss Everdeen?" he says, humor in his voice. My hands tighten to fists. "I warned you what would happen if you did not play by my rules, Miss Everdeen. Inciting rebellious behavior in District 11 is not playing by my rules. Thanks to your actions, Miss Gazon's family is dead. Next time, it will be your own." The screen goes black and I drop to my knees, the guilt a physical weight on my shoulders. I want to throw up again but I know that nothing will come up. Rue's entire family is dead because of me. If I had just ignored her grandfather none of this would have happened.

Feeling like a zombie, I rise to my feet and leave the room, knowing what I have to do next. I enter Cato's room without knocking. He's sitting in the window seat, watching the world outside zoom by. He ignores me so I move to sit across from him.

"I want to talk strategy," I say, Rue's grandfather's broken body filling my sight. He glances at me and laughs before looking out the window again.

"You want to talk strategy now?" he asks. "Too late. With that stunt you just pulled, we're all dead anyway. Now get out."

Author's Note: Hey there! Sorry this chapter took forever, I'll try to be speedier in the future. Lots of things to say here. First of all, I want to give a big shoutout of thanks to user moonpetals16; we had a great discussion about Cato's characterization and it was super helpful and insightful for me. You go girl ^_^ Second, don't worry, we aren't devoting a chapter to each district, that would get tedious after a while. 12 and 11 were just important. 2 might be getting its own chapter but it might just be part of a chapter, I'm not sure yet. Thank you for sticking with me this far! And for the news you've all been waiting for…though we still have QUITE a ways to go to get there, I can now safely say that Cato/Katniss—as in shipping—is going to have a role in this story. Will it be a mushy romance? Mmmmno. I don't think it's in character for either of them to have mushy romances at all, let alone with each other. It's going to be more driven by respect and sympathy for each other. So….mmmyes. Reviews? Please?


	8. Chapter 8

**Valley of the Dolls—Chapter Seven**

After the disaster in District 11, the tour passes by in a blur. Cato is as bad as his word; we've barely spoken since the Peacekeepers killed Rue's family. We certainly haven't discussed strategy. So I do my best to present the front the Capitol wants during my seemingly endless speeches. I haven't done anything that could remotely be considered rebellious, though District 8 seemed rebellious enough on its own. I close my eyes against the countryside rushing by outside my bedroom window, recalling each of the districts in turn. District 10, where there seemed to be more cattle than people. District 9, whose fields of grain stretched as far as the eye could see like a sort of golden sea. District 8, entirely urban, not a blade of grass to be found amongst the filthy tenements and smelly textile factories. District 7, with a large dam near the town square and filled with more types of trees than I could ever learn to name. District 6, whose entire population looks dazed the way Gale did after Mom gave him morphling and whose Peacekeepers are the most vicious I've seen. District 5, the smallest district, whose nuclear reactors block any sort of view of the horizon. District 4, the sea crashing in waves against the rocky bluffs, nearly drowning out our voices as we speak. District 3, a slightly less poor version of District 8 and just as rebellious. And now we're entering District 2. We've passed through several villages already, but won't arrive until we reach the center of the district. These last two districts are the ones I dread the most. I killed both Marvel and Glimmer; I'm sure District 1 has little love for me. And as for District 2…well, perhaps that answer is obvious.

A knock at the door startles me out of my reverie. After a moment, Cinna peeks his head in. I manage a smile at him and he returns it before entering the room, a black clothing bag slung over his arm.

"Sorry I'm late," he says in that gentle way he has, moving to sit down across from me. He leaves me be for a minute before saying, "You look sad."

I snort quietly before turning my head to look out the window. "Haymitch says I always look sad," I say. Cinna reaches out to tip my chin up and holds my gaze. My bottom lip quivers.

"You look especially sad today," he says. "What are you thinking about?"

I look away and draw my legs in close to my chest. "I don't much want to be here."

"I understand," he says. I look back at him, momentarily mesmerized by his eyes as I always am.

"Do you?" I ask. "Do you really?"

"Yes," he says. "District 2 is the only district that has true reason to rejoice at Peeta's death."

I gulp, imagining a faceless crowd calling for Peeta's head.

"District 2 is also likely the only district in which you won't be the favored Victor," Cinna continues. I make a disgusted noise in the back of my throat.

"You think I care about that?" I ask. Cinna's face softens.

"I think you care that the boy you see as a monster will be welcomed as a hero here," he says. I look down and he sighs before pulling me to my feet.

"A Victor's life is always hard, but you have it harder than most," he says, leading me further into my room. "So I brought you something that might cheer you up." He pulls something small, gold, and glinting out of his pocket and presses it into my palm.

"My mockingjay pin," I say, surprised. "How did you get it? I left it at home."

"Your mother gave it to me before we left," Cinna says, a twinkle in his eyes. "She seemed to think you would need it."

I look down at the pin, pride and comfort battling with fear and regret. I can't look at it without thinking of the arena and every nightmare I lived there. But at the same time it represents my strength, my desire to be, as Peeta put it, more than just a piece in the games.

"Isn't this a little 'Girl on Fire' for me to be wearing?" I ask. Cinna smirks.

"I think District 2 could use a firsthand encounter with the Girl on Fire, don't you?" he replies. I smile a little bit and, the moment over, Cinna unzips the garment bag and I slip out of the plush, cream-colored robe Venia gave me to wear. This outfit is different from the others I've worn so far, less conservative and not quite so focused on the gray theme. Cinna has chosen a black, sheer, sleeveless button-down shirt with silver studs all along the collar and a bright red undershirt for modesty's sake, as well as a pair of gray high-waisted shorts and strappy shoes that Cinna says are called espadrilles. I carefully pin my mockingjay pin to my shirt, just above my heart, and turn to head out the door but Cinna stops me.

"I have something else for you," he says. "I made them especially for you." He reaches into his pocket once again and pulls out a small brown box. He opens it and I stare in wonder at the earrings he's made for me.

"They're mockingjay feathers that I had custom dyed," he says as he reaches around to fasten them to my ears. "To match your pin." I can't help but smile as I look at myself in the mirror. The feathers have been painted to look like they're on fire. Cinna smiles at my reflection.

"I'm still betting on you, Girl on Fire," he says. "Down, but never out."

A small smile on my face, I head out of my room with Cinna in my wake. I've had precious little to smile about in the past six months, let alone on this trip, but Cinna's confidence in me makes me wonder if thing might just work out all right in the end. Maybe, just maybe, once this tour is over, life can start going back to some semblance of normal. I mean, once the Capitol accepts that Cato and I are "friends," what more is there for us to do? We live in separate districts, districts that aren't even close to each other. It's not like we can hang out on the weekends. Exchange letters, maybe, or phone calls, but that's about it.

My eyes skate over Cato as though he's not there, just as they have all week, as we exit the train and step foot on District 2 soil. My heart skips a beat at the sight of the people crowded into the town square, waiting for our speeches. I glance at Cato and notice the slight upturn of his mouth, the way he pushes his chest out as he walks. He meets my gaze for a moment and his eyes, twinkling in triumph, say what his mouth doesn't: this is his territory. I'm an outsider here.

Unlike some of the other districts, we arrive right in the center of town, right in the middle of the crowd who's come to hear us speak. People call Cato's name like he's some kind of celebrity, which I suppose he is. I scan the crowd and my heart drops at the sight of a girl not much younger than me holding a hand-painted sign.

_Support Cato Bodea, the true Hunger Games Victor._

"Just ignore it," Haymitch whispers in my ear as I pass by the girl, my hands squeezed into tight fists. "Half an hour here and we'll be on the road again." I nod, not knowing what else to do, and move as quickly as I can without running toward the stage. Cato is in no such hurry. He stops and slaps hands with a few boys his age, hugs more girls than I can count on one hand, and even signs an autograph for one brave little boy whose clothes are inexplicably covered in mud. I watch him and wonder if this is what Victors are supposed to do in their home districts. I try to imagine District 12's reaction were I to do the same thing and actually crack a smile. The idea is beyond laughable. I haven't just entered a different district. I've entered a different world.

Finally, Cato excuses himself from the crowd with a self-deprecating wave of his hand. He takes his place beside me and Daphne begins her speech. While she talks, I find myself drawn to Cato's family. His father stands tall, though not quite as tall as Cato himself, and with his arms crossed behind his back, almost like a Peacekeeper would. He is the only member of the family whose hair isn't blonde. What little hair he has is just a few shades lighter than mine. His wife looks more like Cato. Her face manages to look both pinched and surprised all at once. She smiles brightly up at the stage, showing too much teeth, and her eyes focus on nothing. She wears a bright green dress that would be flattering on someone with more color to their skin, but it just makes her look sallow. My eyes flit over to the four children standing beside their parents. The oldest, a girl who looks about my age, is startlingly beautiful, more beautiful even than Glimmer, with blue eyes that almost look violet from this distance and a sheath of platinum blonde hair that ends in delicate curls midway down her back. I say she's pretty, but she would be ten times prettier if her face wasn't marred by the ugliest, angriest scowl I've ever seen. Her eyes are locked on me and I look away, berating myself for letting her intimidate me even for a moment. Steeling myself, I look back and watch the three younger siblings. The middle girl is the plain one, barely noticeable between her two sisters. She stands with her chin tilted down and her hands twisted into a nervous knot in front of her. Her younger sister, who is a cuter, more angelic version of the oldest girl, nudges her, making the middle girl stumble in place. The youngest one, the little boy, laughs as Daphne finishes her speech and my stomach drops. He's not even old enough to enter the Hunger Games by the looks of him, but he's like a slightly chubbier version of a young Cato. Their faces, the shape of their jaw, the broadness of their shoulders…it's all identical. But while Cato's eyes are dead most of the time, this boy's eyes light up with joy at the slightest thing, whether it's the flock of birds passing overhead or the smile one of his sisters graces him with. It's eerie to watch.

"Katniss," Effie hisses in my ear. "Get up there."

I jump, realizing that I've been daydreaming, and walk with as much dignity as I can muster to the microphone. The crowd is as silent as a graveyard. I reach out to grip the mic and a horrible screech fills the town square. Everyone moans and covers their ears, glaring up at me from between eyes scrunched in pain. I gulp before beginning my speech.

The speech seems to take longer than usual. My mouth is as dry as dirt. I have to clear my throat uncomfortably several times during my speech, making the microphone screech again and again. Clove's family is the only tribute's family so far that hasn't cried. They hate me just as much as Cato's family does. If I had died and Clove had lived, she and Cato both could have been Victors.

I pause and attempt to lick my lips, but my mouth is so dry that my tongue grates like sandpaper across my bottom lip. Now's the time to talk about Clove. I agonized for hours over this moment last night, trying to think of something that was both positive and true that I could say about Clove, anything at all, and even now I don't have a clear idea of what I'm going to say.

"Clove and I didn't exactly see eye to eye in the arena," I begin, my voice dry and raspy in my throat. "But that doesn't mean that I didn't respect her. Her skill in the arena was unrivaled when it came both to her choice of weapon and her determination to survive." I remember vividly struggling under the smaller girl, the blade of her knife pressed into the hollow of my throat. Yes, determination was a strength of hers. "She was, in many ways, the ideal tribute."

"You got that right!" someone in the crowd calls out. People laugh and a flush rises to my cheeks, hot and patchy. I make myself swallow, though it's more air than anything else, and remind myself that I only have a couple things left to say before I can leave this stage behind. Only one tribute died in this district.

"Clove was a survivor, willing to do whatever it took to get safely home. She didn't concern herself with what was right or wrong—"

My stomach drops as the words leave my mouth. How could I have said something like that, in front of her own family, no less? I didn't like Clove, not at all, but I practiced for _hours_ last night, making sure that I had good things to say for this speech. I was sure that I had it down. Then again, I hadn't counted on being heckled, either.

"What I meant was…what I mean to say is…" I struggle. The crowd is growing restless and resentful. Needing to be done, I blurt out, "I'm sorry she's dead," before hurrying away from the microphone and back to my seat on the stage, my chest as flushed as my cheeks.

Daphne hurries to the front of the stage, no doubt to say something conciliatory to Clove's family, and as she speaks I feel a pair of eyes on me. Turning my head to the right a bit, I'm disconcerted to see Cato staring at me as he hasn't since our fight in District 11. One corner of his mouth is turned up in a smirk, his lips pressed tightly together, and his eyes glint with a dark malice that I haven't seen since the games ended. I look away but he lets his gaze linger. I bunch my hands into fists, knowing his reaction spells nothing good.

He stands up, the picture of cocky confidence, and strolls to the microphone amidst a cacophony of cheers that makes me want to throw up from embarrassment and anger. He waits about ten seconds before he begins speaking, soaking up the applause. Just as he did in my own district, he skips the formality of the Capitol speech and jumps right into talking about Clove.

"It's customary to talk about the fallen tributes as just that—tributes. But I want to talk about Clove as a person." He pauses, giving the mood of the audience time to change from hostile to sympathetic. It doesn't take long.

"As most of you know, Clove was best friends with my sister Ivonne." He gestures to the oldest girl, who closes her eyes and sniffs dramatically, obviously hamming it up for the crowd. I scowl. They can't have been too good of friends if she's content to use Clove's death as a publicity stunt. Then I recall Peeta announcing his crush on me to Caesar and I wonder if I'm judging this girl, this Ivonne, too harshly.

"I don't have a ton to say about Clove," Cato says. "We all have our own memories of her and I don't want to tarnish those." The crowd boos good-naturedly, in that way that says, _oh come on, don't be like that_. Cato lifts his hands, calling for silence, and District 2 instantly obeys.

"I will say one memory I have about Clove," he says. "Like I said, you all know that Clove and Ivonne were inseparable, so naturally Clove spent a good deal of her free time at our house." He makes a goofy, _oh well, what can you do_ sort of face and the crowd laughs. "But I want to tell you about how they first became friends. I remember when we were quite small…I must have been about eight, making Clove and Ivonne only five… It was lunchtime at school. We were all playing outside with…decidedly _lax_ supervision." The crowd laughs again and I wonder how I can reconcile this Cato with the Cato that pinned me to a wall and spat in my face. Which one is real? Are either of them real? Does it matter, when it comes right down to it?

"Our father calls my sister 'Impetuous Ivonne' for a reason," Cato says with a smile, making the crowd titter. Ivonne smiles up at her brother like she's never seen anyone more wonderful in her life. "I don't know if everyone will remember this, but there's this tree in the school courtyard—" The crowd immediately oohs in recognition. Cato allows himself to smirk and looks over his shoulder at me.

"For the benefit of those not from this district," he says, amusement and condescension in his voice, "there's this tree in the school courtyard that's extremely tall, extremely old, and extremely difficult to climb." He pauses, apparently waiting for some reaction from me, and I manage a nod. Turning back to the crowd, who is thoroughly enjoying his performance, he continues, "It was a big deal if you could climb all the way to the top. Most of the older students couldn't even do it. Well, my sister decided that if anyone could climb the tree, _she_ could." The crowd laughs and Ivonne shrugs in a charming sort of way. "But of course, she got stuck about halfway up." More laughter. "So there she sat, crying and calling for someone to help her, with all of us down on the ground in a circle around the tree, not knowing what to do. Like I said, it's almost impossible to climb this tree. No one else wanted to get stuck. Finally someone thought to go get an adult for help, but it was taking a while, and Ivonne was getting more upset by the minute. I had halfway worked up the courage to go up there myself and get her down when I saw a little girl scurrying up the tree as easily as if she was a cat. Tiny, she was, tinier than all of the other kindergarteners, but fast, too, and agile. To make a long story short, Clove helped Ivonne get down, and they were inseparable after that day." He stops talking, but the crowd remains silent. I can hear mockingjays far off in the distance. This silence is very different from the silence the crowd held while I was talking.

"I did my best to keep Clove alive in the arena, especially after I found out about the rule change," he says after a long moment, head down, "but I failed, and I can only apologize to her family that I couldn't bring her home." He looks up at Clove's family and it's at that point that her mother bursts into tears. Cato steps away from the microphone and the crowd roars with thunderous applause. He keeps his face a little mournful until he turns around to face me, a full-blown grin stretching his mouth too wide across his face. I stare at him, wondering if he meant anything he just said. Was the story even true? Something tells me that it wouldn't have mattered one way or the other. This is Cato's home district. It doesn't matter what he says one way or the other.

As soon as Daphne dismisses us, I bolt off the stage, not worrying about my precious image, seeing as it's already damaged beyond repair here. Haymitch's face is grim when I approach him.

"Do you remember when I told you that you had all the charm of a dead slug?" he asks, his voice flat. "Make that a squashed dead slug." I slump my shoulders, not entirely sure why I'm so bothered. What real difference does it make what District 2 thinks of me? I survived the games. That's all that matters. I didn't win the games to become a Victor, I won the games because the only other choice was to die, and to let my family die as a result. But still, despite all of that, the hateful silence and disapproving looks hurt me. Why?

Effie toddles over to us, her exceptionally high heels threatening to snap her ankles. She looks stressed; her face makeup has run a bit from sweat.

"Don't worry, Katniss, darling," she says, patting my shoulder in what I'm sure she thinks is a comforting way. "No one can fault you for what you said. You were just—"

"I'm not worried, Effie," I say, just to shut her up. "I'm just ready to leave."

"Oh, we aren't leaving just yet," Daphne calls from over by Cato's family. She strides briskly over to us; her shoes are much more sensible than Effie's and allow her to walk at a steady pace, making her look more in charge and in control than my escort, sweet as she is, ever could.

"What?" I say, though my voice is so quiet I'm sure Daphne didn't hear me.

"What do you mean we're not leaving yet?" Haymitch demands, recognizing my discomfort. Daphne surveys him, a disdainful look on her face as she wrinkles her nose at him.

"We're ahead of schedule," she says, speaking as though she very much doubts Haymitch's intelligence. "We arrived early, but District 2 was gracious enough to let us begin right away. And then our speeches turned out rather short this time around…" Her gaze turns from Haymitch to me and I glare at her, knowing that she must be only too pleased at my blunder.

"And Cato's family has invited us to lunch at their home, so that's how we'll spend the time," Daphne declares, clapping her hands together in finality. I look at Haymitch, who's glaring at Daphne as she hurries back to her own Victor.

"Suddenly I'm not hungry," I say as Ivonne stares daggers at me over Daphne's shoulder. I tell myself that I'm not intimidated, but I know it's at least partially a lie. I'm not so much worried about their opinion of me—they've made that pretty clear already—but when I imagine myself sitting down to lunch with Cato and his family, my blood boils. I know all about how they feel about having a Victor from District 12. They think that I have to prove my worth to them, to prove that I deserve to be alive. And I won't. I don't need to prove anything to them or anyone else.

**A/N:** First of all, a huuuuuuuug apology that this took so long! I moved—all by myself—and just started university back up again, and I got distracted, to say the least. But hey, it's a long chapter, so that counts for something, right? :3 I wanted to give a huge shoutout to everyone that's reviewed—one person reviewed almost every chapter, you're fab, whoever you are—because you guys really keep me motivated to continue. It shouldn't take me nearly this long from now on to update. But next chapter has veryyyy exciting things ahead—lunch with the Bodeas, which we all know isn't going to go over well, and we're getting to the Capitol in the next chapter. Interview time :3 And I have a plot twist planned, so…yay. Please leave me some lovely—or not so lovely, I suppose—reviews :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Valley of the Dolls—Chapter Eight**

The house smells of cinnamon and roasted meat, an odd combination of sweet and savory that threatens to overwhelm me as Haymitch shuts the front door, effectively locking us inside enemy territory. A roaring fire blazes in the giant stone hearth on the far wall, filling the house with warmth. Every surface is spotless; the floors gleam as though they've just been scrubbed, sunlight streams through the large, clear windows, and even the hearth is free of soot and grime.

I think of my own house, not my Victors' Village mansion but my home back in the Seam, and grimace at my surroundings. Our house perpetually smelled of goat and coal dust, a dust that coats everything in the Seam, even its inhabitants. I remember harsh winter nights spent huddled around the small grate in the living room, paper from our tesserae rations our only kindling, and I almost laugh out loud at the differences between Cato's home and my own.

"I have our meal resting in one of the warming drawers," Cato's mom, whose name I've learned is Fleta, says in a decidedly dreamy voice as she breaks away from the group and moves into the kitchen, her dress rustling in her wake. I frown at the thought of my lunch "resting" before moving along with the rest of the group into the dining room, keeping close to Haymitch. He's the only one here I can trust. I would count Effie in that group as well, but Daphne's presence seems to have caused my escort to revert back to the clueless, dingy, ridiculous Capitol woman I knew her to be before my games. Nonetheless, I carefully seat myself between her and Haymitch as Cato's mom brings out the food with the help of her youngest daughter, Clarine. She's the same age as Prim, just thirteen, and while they both have blonde hair and blue eyes, that's where their similarities end. While Prim still looks very much like a little girl, Clarine already has a woman's figure—she's almost curvier than I am, not that that's saying much. She also has a spark of cruelty in her eyes that Prim could never possess. She is a mini-Ivonne in the making. I stretch my legs under the table and accidentally kick Enola, Cato's other sister. I mutter a quick apology and she smiles shyly at me before looking down at her plate. Now _she_ reminds me of Prim. She's certainly the quietest member of the Bodea family. Ivonne and Clarine are chatterboxes and the boy, Jamey, is like a human whirlwind, but Enola's scarcely said two words all day. She's only a year younger than Ivonne. I wonder how they could have grown up so differently. My eyes drift to the right of Enola and land on Brutus. He too has been quiet today, though Haymitch tells me that's his custom. He hasn't said a word to me since he pulled me and Cato apart that night on the train. He acts as if I don't even exist, which is fine with me. Maybe he thinks that if he ignores me Cato will follow in his footsteps. His strategy seemed to be working until this morning. Ever since my speech blunder, Cato hasn't been able to keep his eyes off me. I tell myself it doesn't bother me, but something about his newly permanent smirk has me worried. He has arrogantly seated himself at the head of the table, leaving his father to sit at the opposite end. He rests an elbow on the table, holding his chin in the palm of his hand as he stares at me, not even trying to hide his intent. I pretend he doesn't exist, refusing to be intimidated.

"Let's say grace," Vito, Cato's father, says once everyone is seated. He joins hands with his wife and with Daphne and I jump a little, realizing that we're supposed to all hold hands. Extra grateful for sitting where I did, I take Haymitch's and Effie's hands and bow my head, following Enola's example. "Grace" turns out to be a litany of reasons why we should be grateful to the Capitol, from the food on the table to the roof over our heads to the clothes on our backs, and my mouth twists into an ugly scowl by the time Vito finishes.

"Thank you, everyone," Vito says, a smile on his careworn face. Fleta smiles around the room at everyone, but just like during our speeches, her eyes seem vacant, unfocused. I stare at her, trying to figure out where I've seen such an expression before.

"No, thank _you_, Mr. Bodea, for graciously inviting us into your home," Daphne practically coos, making it quite obvious what she thinks of Vito. His wife doesn't seem to notice. Vito's smile turns into a grimace.

"It was all my wife's idea, actually," he says, reaching for Fleta's hand. "She couldn't resist showing off her cooking skills for guests." He looks at her and squeezes her hand affectionately, his smile turning genuine again. Fleta turns her head to look at her husband, awareness coming to life in her eyes for a moment before they grow cloudy again. Vito flinches almost imperceptibly before withdrawing his hand and locking eyes with me.

"And of course we wanted to get to know Katniss," he says with a smile that I have a hard time believing is genuine. I give him an equally false smile back and take a bite of lamb chop that's so tender it nearly melts in my mouth, knowing that my time of self-imposed is coming to a close.

"Yes, our Katniss is just so popular," Effie says as she butters a biscuit, completely missing the point. Cato suppresses a snort and my stomach tightens.

"She's all the Capitol can talk about," Effie continues in her clueless way. The atmosphere in the room grows icy. Effie, finally realizing that she's said something amiss, clears her throat and drops her knife on top of her plate with a clatter.

"You're quite right, Effie," Daphne says, apparently eager to salvage the conversation. "Katniss certainly _is_ a popular topic for gossip. For instance, did you know that Katniss Everdeen is the only tribute from District 12 to have ever scored higher than a seven in training?"

She means it as a dig. For most districts, a seven is pretty good, but for a Career district like District 2 it's almost laughable. And besides that, she's wrong.

The table is discussing the dubious marvel of my eleven when I speak up for the first time.

"Actually, Daphne, I'm not the only one. Peeta got an eight."

Silence cloaks the room like a shroud. It persists for a few moments before everyone starts talking at once, saying things like "oh, of course" and "how could we have forgotten?"

Why don't you tell us about Peeta, Katniss?" Ivonne asks, leaning toward me with a would-be gracious smile on her face. "Tell us all the juicy details."

"What?" I say, my mind processing her words far too slowly.

"About your relationship, I mean," Ivonne says, smiling at me like she's my best friend in the world. "It's such a tragic love story, after all. Was that kiss in the arena your first one? Clarine and I theorized about it, you know. My money's on yes, considering how shy you were. Don't get me wrong, it's cute, but—"

"I _doubt_," Brutus interrupts, his deep voice reverberating through the room, "that Katniss wants to talk about this."

"Oh, I didn't mean to cause offense," Ivonne says, putting a hand to her chest as though scandalized. "I just meant that I can't imagine losing someone so close to you. I mean, Clove was my best friend, and losing her was awful enough. But losing the _love of your life_? I can't even begin to imagine."

I narrow my eyes, knowing what she's really saying. If that story Cato told is true, Ivonne and Clove had been friends for over a decade before the games, while Peeta and I had only a few weeks at the very most to grow close. Her suffering, in her mind, must be so much greater than mine. She's almost right.

"Thanks, but I really don't need your sympathy," I say, sending the table into silence once again. "I happen to know you're very happy Peeta's dead, and you'd be even happier if I had joined him."

Ivonne actually manages to make tears well up in her eyes, as if she's genuinely upset at what I said. Everyone stares at me as if I've grown a second head. Cato isn't smirking anymore.

"Excuse me," I say as I rise to my feet, my silverware clattering against my plate. "Thank you for the meal." That said, I leave the room. Haymitch will probably chastise me later for my rudeness but right now I don't care. I have to be fake-nice when I'm with Cato in public. I have to be fake-nice when I'm giving my speeches. I have to be fake-nice every moment I'm in the Capitol. But I do _not_ have to be nice, fake or otherwise, to someone who questions my right to grieve for Peeta.

A hand grabs my wrist in a death-grip as I enter the living room and, already knowing who it is, I turn around with a snarl.

"Let go of me," I say with clenched teeth. Cato's eyes sparkle with a dangerous intensity as he tightens his grips.

"Don't ever talk to my sister like that again," he says, his voice quiet and almost monotone. I yank my arm toward me but all that does is create a dull ache in my wrist.

"No problem," I say, glaring at his hand. "Just tell her to shut up about Peeta and we won't have any problems."

"For supposedly not knowing he was alive before the games, he sure does have you whipped," Cato says with a little snarl of his own. Doing a high-pitched, horrible imitation of my voice, he says, "Don't talk about Peeta! Don't talk about Peeta!", shaking my wrist a few times as he speaks, jarring me all the way up to my shoulder and down my spine. Seeing my furious expression, he says, "What? Hitting a little too close to home? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you both faked that stupid confession to get sponsors."

"How dare you—"

A high-pitched, excited voice interrupts me. "Are you guys playing Hunger Games?"

I look around and see Jamey standing in the doorway with stars in his eyes as he looks from Cato to me. My stomach drops at his choice of words: _playing_ Hunger Games?

"Nah, little man," Cato says as he finally releases my wrist. I resist the urge to rub it. "Katniss and I were just talking, Victor to Victor." He looks from Jamey to me as a vicious smirk crosses his face, twisting it almost beyond recognition.

"Would you _like_ to see us play Hunger Games, Jamey?" he asks, his eyes locked on mine.

"Yeah!" Jamey cries in an exultant voice, lifting his arms above his head in triumph. "Hunger Games!"

My body tenses at his words. Cato can't be serious. Fighting on the train is one thing. Attacking me in his own home is quite another. Cato chuckles under his breath at my expression as he flexes his arm muscles.

"You better run, Twelve," he says, nothing but hatred in his voice. "You know I love to put on a good show." He rushes me without warning and slams my head against the wall, his hand fitting easily around my neck. He could snap it without a second thought, just like he did to the boy from District 3.

"Dead," he says to cheers from Jamey. He releases me and takes a few steps back. I make a run for the fireplace poker, the nearest weapon I can see, but he's quicker. He grabs it and smacks me hard on the side, as though the poker were a sword he intended to use to cleave me in two.

"Dead," he repeats, obvious pride in his voice this time. He lets go of the poker and I lunge at him, all thought of strategy forgotten in my rage. He grabs me easily and tosses me across the room so I land against the opposite wall, knocking the wind out of me. I don't need to hear him say it this time. If he had truly been trying to kill me with that toss, I would be dead.

We go through this process at least five more times, Cato miming killing me in various ways and then releasing me for Jamey's amusement. I begin to grow dazed from the constant battery. The sobering truth hits me that without my bow I'm effectively powerless against my fellow Victor. He has size, strength, and years of training on his side.

At some point, his sisters joined the audience. Ivonne and Clarine are openly laughing at my misfortune, but Enola's mouth is a thin line of disapproval. I have no time to ponder it, though; Cato demands all of my attention.

I back away from him unsteadily, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. Cato just finished "pretending" to choke me to death, if you can call it pretending. A few spots still cloud my vision as he languidly approaches me and I trip over nothing, falling hard to the ground. My head smacks against the polished wood floor with an audible crack and for a moment I see two Catos as he pounces on me. He grabs my wrists in each hand and pins them to the ground near my head as he straddles my hips, letting his weight rest on me. He does nothing for a moment, only stares at me with a casually powerful smirk on his face. My breath hitches as my heart threatens to beat its way out of my chest. I keep eye contact with him, wishing he would just throw me into another wall or something. This inherent threat of violence is scarier than the real thing.

Slowly, menacingly, he leans down until his head is barely three inches from mine. He's so close that I can smell the thick, musky scent of his shampoo. His smile turns genuine for a moment before he puts his lips to my ear and whispers, "Dead" in a silky voice. My gasp is audible, though just barely, and I hate myself for it.

"Oh goodness," Effie's voice, sounding very far away to me, says. Cato looks up and his grip on my wrists loosens. I don't hesitate. I buck my hips upward with a savage cry, throwing Cato off-balance before smashing my head into his. Howling, he grabs his head and I manage to push him off me. I scoot away, all sense of dignity forgotten for the sake of self-preservation. Cato glares at me, his hands still cupping his head. For someone who dishes out pain so readily, who _enjoys_ it, he sure doesn't like being on the receiving end.

"Katniss, play right!" Jamey demands, scandalized and upset. "Don't hit Cato!"

"What the _hell_ is going on in here?" Haymitch barks, obviously furious. He moves to help me to my feet but I push him away.

"I was teaching Katniss her place," Cato says with a snarl, finally taking his hands away from his head. Pointing at me, he says, "I could have killed you a dozen times in the past ten minutes and you _know_ it. The only reason you're alive right now, the _only_ reason, is because I decided to let you live, because I _saved_ your ass. Remember when I said you should thank your pathetic boyfriend every day that you're alive? I was wrong, I take it back. You should be thanking _me_."

Somehow, I'm on my feet in an instant. I see red. "I owe you _nothing_!" I scream, Haymitch holding me back.

"You owe me _everything_!" Cato roars back, more furious than I've ever seen him, spit flying from his mouth. He strides toward us, intending on doing who knows what, when Brutus enters the room.

"_Enough_," he thunders, his voice shaking the pictures on the walls. "You're acting like children. Maybe I need to treat you like children." Turning to Cato, he says, "Apologize."

"What?" Cato demands, outraged. Brutus's downright murderous expression never wavers.

"Apologize," he repeats. Cato rolls his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says to me with biting sarcasm.

"For?" Brutus prompts. Cato's eyes widen in incredulity.

"For treating you like the District 12 scum you are," he finally spits out. He walks out of the room, slamming shoulders with Brutus on his way out. Brutus closes his eyes for a moment and takes a very deliberate breath before opening them again.

"Excuse me," he says in a deceptively calm voice. "I need a moment with my tribute alone. You—" He points at Jamey, who freezes like prey. "—start straightening the room. And someone get the girl cleaned up." With a final exasperated scoff he too leaves the room. It's only now that I realize I'm bleeding from the mouth. I spit a globule of blood onto the Bodeas' perfectly clean floor and hope it leaves a stain.

Enola takes a cautious step forward and flinches when I whip my head around to look at her, as though she expects me to run and attack her too.

"I can show you where the bathroom is," she says, her voice low and musical. I'm immediately taken in by it. In a strange way her voice reminds me of my dad's. How did I not notice it earlier?

"Ok," I say in a breathy voice. After a second Haymitch lets go of my arms and I stumble after Enola, my feet aching from Cinna's thoroughly impractical shoes. She leads me up a set of artfully rough-hewn stairs and down a long hallway until we reach a bathroom constructed almost entirely of stone. The warmth from the fire and my battle drains out of me and I'm left shaking. Enola gestures for me to sit on the toilet and I obey, too tired to fight anymore.

Enola turns the tap on and grabs a washcloth as she waits for the water to heat up. My skin has erupted in goose bumps—the porcelain is icy against my thighs—and for a moment all sensation, past and present, is heightened. My mind replays the events of the past few minutes, lingering on the last "fatal blow." I feel Cato's warm breath against my neck, the scratch of his jeans against my bare legs, his weight resting on my hips. His scent overwhelms me, the wicked glee in his eyes consumes me, and I let out a strangled sob that is beyond my ability to control.

"I'm sorry," Enola says quietly. She wrings the washcloth out and moves to wipe the blood from my face.

"How can you stand them?" I demand as she rubs a Q-tip with peroxide on a cut on my chin I had failed to notice. "You're not like them, I know that. How—"

"I love my family," Enola says as she wipes my brow with a mother's touch. "That doesn't mean I always agree with them or with what they do."

"I hate the lot of them," I say. To my surprise, Enola smiles.

"Don't judge them too harshly," she says as she continues cleaning my face. "That's what you're so upset at them for, isn't it? Judging you when they shouldn't?"

Her words make too much sense for me to argue against, making me scowl. She stands up, rinses the bloody washcloth in the sink, and opens the medicine cabinet to replace the peroxide. I see dozens of small glass vials filled with a clear liquid. I squint to read the labels, and once I do it dawns on me.

"Your mom's a morphling addict," I blurt. Enola freezes for a moment, her hand in mid-air, before carefully replacing the peroxide and shutting the medicine cabinet.

"Yes," she says. "Five years ago, my mother had a stillbirth that wrecked her body and sent her into a horrible depression. Our doctor prescribed morphling, just a little bit, you understand, for the pain, but my mom couldn't get enough of it. She screams when she's without it, just rocks on the floor and screams." I stare at her, so she continues. "That's one thing Cato's Capitol earnings help with—making sure she has enough. Morphling is very expensive, you know. I'm still holding out hope that one of the Capitol doctors will be able to cure her of her addiction, but if they can't…well, at least she won't scream anymore."

"I…I'm sorry," I say breathlessly. I never imagined that Cato's family could be suffering in some way; it never even crossed my mind.

"It's alright," Enola says, still smiling. "We all have our burdens to carry. Some are just easier to hide than others." She offers me her hand and I let her pull me to my feet.

"I would appreciate you not mentioning that you know to Cato," she says. "He wouldn't take kindly to it. He's like you in that way, I think. He doesn't want anyone's sympathy." I nod, disturbed at the comparison, and follow her out.

Effie and Haymitch are standing less than a foot away from the front door when I reach the bottom of the stairs. Daphne, Brutus, and Cato are nowhere to be seen. I turn to Enola, who's still standing on the last step, and murmur a quiet "thank you."

"Will I see you again?" she asks.

"I…I don't know," I say with a frown. I like Enola, but I can't imagine ever coming back here. And where else would I see Enola besides here?

She nods at me like she knows what I'm thinking. "Well, good luck, Katniss."

"You too," I say before turning my back on her. Haymitch yanks the front door open and the three of us hurry out, walking at a brisk pace toward the train station.

"_Well,_" Effie says, her Capitol accent more pronounced than ever, "that was a disaster."

The train ride to District 1 passes in a blur. I lay down for a short nap, but I've no sooner laid my head on my pillow than my prep team comes bustling in, ready to transform me once again. Cinna dresses me in grey jeans and a burgundy sweater and before I know it I'm on stage, talking in a dull monotone about Glimmer and Marvel. I manage not to say anything disgraceful, Cato spews some drivel about his allies, and then it's time to go again. The sun is setting as we enter the train, casting everything in a dull orange glow. Memories of Peeta talking about sunsets flood my mind, making me trip on the train steps. Cato laughs behind me but I ignore him, choosing instead to quarantine myself in my room. I don't bother to shower, knowing that my prep team will scrub me raw tomorrow in preparation for my interview. I curl into a little ball in my too-big bed and watch the night sky pass.

The train rocks me gently, soothingly, and if my mind wasn't so full of worry, I would already be asleep. But everything is weighing on tomorrow; if I make a mistake, any mistake, people will die. I have to smile, make small talk with Caesar, and forgive Cato for throwing Peeta to the mutts, thank him for saving my life, act like he's my friend. The train lurches and my stomach tightens, bile rising in my throat. The only thought that consoles me is that after tomorrow, my charade is effectively over. I'll occasionally have to correspond with Cato, but so what? It's something I can live with.

I'm on the edge of sleep when a crash from down the hall jars me back to wakefulness.

"NO!" Cato's voice screams out, followed by more crashing. I hear Brutus's deep voice mixed with Daphne's affected one and I smile a little. Aside from whatever President Snow can throw at us, what's bad for Cato must be good for me. I fall asleep with a smile on my face and dream of Cato whispering, "Dead" in my ear.

My prep team causes me too early the next morning. Just as I predicted, they scrub me like I'm an old pot stained with food. My skin aches as they use a hundred different tools and products designed to give me "that Capitol glow." The longer they work, the more anxious I grow. Effie goes apoplectic when she notices the bruises on my arms, neck, and back, and before I know it a man I don't recognize is injecting me with a clear liquid that burns like ice in my veins. I stare in wonder as the bruises on my wrists simply fade from view.

They use much more makeup on me than they did in the districts. They apply five different shades of grey to my eyes, from charcoal to the color of dirty snow. They create little wings with a kohl black eyeliner in homage to my mockingjay pin. My lips are a fiery, cherry red that taste like mint, reminding me of the nights my family had nothing to eat except mint tea.

Cinna dresses me in one of the most beautiful dresses I've ever seen. It's the color of charcoal, with a strapless bodice made of satin and a short but very full skirt made of tulle and sequins. It ripples over my skin like water as he zips it up. I feel a little exposed, but I know that by Capitol standards it's perfectly normal, almost conservative. I'm a little startled when Flavius leaves my hair down. Up until now it's been in my signature braid, but now it hangs against my back in loose curls. I look in the mirror and almost don't recognize myself.

Haymitch enters the room then, looking thoroughly out of place in his wrinkled suit and mis-tied tie.

"You look beautiful," he says. Though his voice is stern, I can tell that he's completely sober.

"Thanks," I say, wishing I could really mean it. I feel like a pig on the way to the slaughterhouse, that I'm just in the calm before the storm.

"Just remember to breathe," he says as he ushers me out of the room and down the hallway. Cato, Daphne, Brutus, and Effie are all waiting for us at the exit. I'm relieved to see Cato in a simple black tuxedo; we don't match, not even a little bit.

"Remember to smile," Haymitch whispers as he practically shoves me out the door.

The roar is unbelievable. Thousands of people scream, clap, cheer, and chant my name. They're holding signs that say things like "Girl on Fire" and, I note with dread, "Star-Crossed Lovers." People have painted, or perhaps tattooed, mockingjays on their arms, their necks, their faces. One little girl has a dress designed to mimic the dress I wore for my last interview with Caesar. She spins in a circle and her skirt lights up with pretend flames as I pass. Everywhere, people clamor for autographs. Remembering Cato's distinctly Victor-like behavior in District 2, I decide to humor them. I sign books, journals, used napkins, shirts, and magazine pictures of myself, but I refuse to sign one man's chest. I glance back at Cato, who's several feet behind me. He too is saying autographs, though only a few. People actually have the audacity to boo him as he passes. He holds his head high, but his mouth is thin and his jaw is tight. He looks up at me then, as if he can feel my eyes on him, but it's like he's looking right through me. His eyes are dead, devoid of emotion. I feel an odd mix of pity and vindication at the Capitol's reaction.

It's at this point that Effie links arms with me and gently but firmly pulls me through the crowd and into the broadcast studio. Memories from my last interview hit me like a well-timed punch. I feel like I'm going to throw up as I recall Peeta's ease on stage as he confesses his love for me.

_No,_ I tell myself. I grab hold of my upper arm hard enough that my fingers go numb, forcing myself to breathe. Now is not the time to lose control. No, now is the absolute _worst_ time to lose control.

_Just fifteen minutes and you're free,_ I intone as Capitol workers strap various cords and microphones to me.

"Alright, show time in five," one of them barks before hurrying off to give Cato his microphone. I start counting down from one thousand, knowing that I need to keep my mind blank for the next few minutes. Even now, the audience is watching Caesar discuss the games with Seneca Crane, the Head Gamemaker. They're watching footage from the arena, heavily focused on Cato and me.

_Just fifteen minutes._

"Katniss, can I talk to you for a second?"

I turn around, startled out of my counting, and see Cato standing behind me, his face an emotionless mask. I turn around again.

"Do you know what you're saying out there?" I ask.

"Yes, but—"

"Then just go out there and say it."

"But—"

"I don't care, Cato. I'm just going to go out there, say what I have to say, and be done. And so should you. I don't care."

Silence. Then: "Fine." He doesn't move away from me and I'm about to reprimand him when two Capitol men gently but firmly push me forward.

"I give you Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire!"

The lights are blinding. Thankfully, I don't trip. I make myself smile and give a little wave to the roaring crowd as I walk toward Caesar, whose hair is a shocking shade of lilac. As I seat myself on the couch, I notice the Peacekeepers standing at the front of the crowd. They're the same ones President Snow brought with him to District 12. The one who whipped Gale stands front and center, looking at me. My stomach drops and my smile falters a little bit. There weren't nearly this many Peacekeepers the last time I was here. Is Snow expecting trouble?

"And now…" Caesar calls out in the overexcited way he has, "Cato Bodea, your Victor from District 2!"

No one boos this time, but the clapping is definitely subdued. Cato acts as if he doesn't notice, still playing the part of Victor. Good. If the rest of the night goes this smoothly we'll be out of here in no time and I'll be able to say good-bye to Cato Bodea.

He sits down next to me, though it's a respectful distance away. He crosses his legs, resting one ankle on the opposite knee, and smiles at me and Caesar as though we're the best thing he's seen all day. He looks so much like Jamey for a moment that I have to look away, disturbed.

Caesar waits for about ten seconds for the crowd to quiet down before addressing us.

"Well, I have to say, I've never been more excited to do these interviews," he says, his too-big smile never leaving his face. "There's _two_ of you!"

The audience laughs and I just keep smiling, not sure what I'm supposed to say to this.

"We had to have this couch specially made, you know," Caesar continues. "Just for you."

I run my fingers over the soft material and say, "It's lovely," which only makes the audience laugh more. I'm struck by the thought that there's very little I could do to turn this crowd against me tonight.

"So tell me, Katniss, Cato," Caesar says, leaning forward in interest. "What is it like to be a Victor?"

Cato speaks first. "It's like a dream come true, Caesar. It's all I've ever wanted—to bring pride to my district."

"Oh, isn't he lovely, folks?" Caesar asks. "I imagine your family must be very proud as well?"

"Yes, definitely," Cato says. "My uncle was a Victor, you know, of the 52nd Hunger Games, so I guess you could say it was in my blood to win."

"You certainly fought like it was in your blood," Caesar says with a chuckle. "But we'll get to that in a second. What about you, Katniss? What do you like most about being a Victor?"

"Umm…" Suddenly every intelligent thought I've ever had flies out of my head. "The house is nice."

Everyone, even Caesar, laughs harder than ever at that and I feel myself start to blush. It's barely thirty seconds in and I've already messed up. I resist the urge to cover my face.

"I imagine it must be very nice," Caesar says, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "Do you have a favorite room?"

"Mine," I say. More laughter. I glance at Cato, whose smile has grown rather wooden, and I pray that we can finish this quickly.

The interview continues on in this way for several minutes, with Caesar asking us questions about our lives as Victors, about our families, about how the games have affected us. While Cato's answers are exactly what the Capitol wants and expects to hear, he almost sounds too practiced, forced. My answers are unpracticed but also ridiculous, so it balances out.

"And…what about Peeta's family, Katniss?" Caesar asks, his voice growing serious. "How are they?"

I gulp before answering. "As well as can be expected, I think. I give them part of my earnings every month." The crowd gives a resounding "aww" and my heart drops, wondering if I've said too much."

"And to my cousin Gale's family, of course," I say, hoping to undo any damage I might have caused. No one notices.

"That's very touching, Katniss," Caesar says, a sympathetic look on his face. He places his hand on top of mine and I struggle not to flinch.

"Let's talk about Peeta," he says in a gentle voice. "How are you doing, now that he's been gone six months?" The crowd is so silent I can hear their anticipatory breathing.

"Well, I won't pretend I'm completely over his death," I start. I feel Cato stiffen beside me. "But it gets easier every day. The first couple of months were the worst. But I'm learning to deal with it. I've accepted that he's gone, I think."

Silence. This answer isn't what the Capitol was expecting. I know Snow must be smiling in his mansion.

"Is that so?" Caesar asks, feigning surprise of his own. "You don't miss him?"

"I still miss him," I allow, knowing I'm walking a fine line. "But it doesn't consume me, you know? There will always be a part of me that misses Peeta, but I can't let that keep me from living my life. Peeta and I promised each other, before the games, that we would both do our best to win and if one of us won, we wouldn't waste our entire life grieving for the other one. And…well, one of us won."

"For a while it seemed as though both of you were going to win," Caesar says.

"Yes," I say after a moment, breathless.

"Has that complicated things between you two?" Caesar asks, gesturing to me and Cato. I look to Cato, but he nods at me, waiting for me to speak.

"At first," I say with great hesitation. "Like I said, it took me a couple months to come to terms with Peeta's death, but after that…well, Cato and I started talking and I…I forgave him."

The crowd gasps. Caesar's jaw drops.

"You mean to say you forgave Cato for killing Peeta?"

"Uh huh," I say, my mouth unbearably dry. "Well, I mean, I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him. I would have thrown myself over the edge of the Cornucopia and died right along with Peeta. I would have been breaking my promise. I couldn't be grateful at the time, but I…I'm very grateful now." I smile at Cato and he smiles back and I throw up a little in my mouth.

"Wow," Caesar says. "I didn't expect this. Did anyone expect this?" The crowd gives a resounding "no" and I have to force myself not to laugh at the stupidity of it all.

"Cato, how do you feel about all this?" Caesar asks. "Is what Katniss is saying accurate?"

"Yeah," Cato says, fervently enough that I almost believe he believes it. "I knew Katniss was really hurting after the finale, so after a little while I decided to reach out to her. It was hard at first, but we're pretty good friends now. Right, Katniss?"

I nod, not able to verbally confirm what he's said, but it's enough for the crowd to break into hundreds of hushed conversations all at once.

"Did you two talk about Peeta much?" Caesar asks, riveted.

"Yeah, at first," Cato says, saving me the necessity of answering. "I told her I was sorry for his death, that I had done what I had done only because I was trying to survive, and she forgave me for it. I was shocked. But that's Katniss—selfless."

I frown a little at the compliment, but Caesar takes it right in stride.

"Yes, she certainly is," he says, beaming as though the compliment had been for him. "And you're friends now, you say?"

"Oh yeah," Cato says with a breezy wave of his hand. "We talk all the time." Caesar starts to ask another question, but to my surprise Cato keeps talking.

"I've never told Katniss this," he says, "but I can understand where Peeta was coming from. Like I said, she's selfless, but she's also brave, loyal, strong… really just kind of perfect."

My insides turn to jelly and I turn to look at him, doing my best to keep the horror off my face. His eyes are trying to tell me something but in my panic I can't understand what it is.

"Cato," Caesar says in a serious but titillated voice. "Cato. Are you saying you _like_ Katniss?"

"Yeah, Caesar, I guess that's what I'm saying."

Everyone turns to look at me, waiting for my response, but I feel like I've slipped into some bizarre coma. I can't react, only listen.

"That's very…sweet of you," I say after an eternity, my teeth clenched in a false smile. "But you know I'm still not over Peeta's death."

_Cato, stop this. Take it back._

Cato nods soberly, a small smile still on his face. "I know," he says, his eyes locked on mine. "I can wait."

Silence. Then the crowd erupts into the loudest cheers of the night.

**A/N**:

This chapter is HUGE! But I promised the interview scene, so here it is! :D SOOOO what do you guys think? Lots of stuff going on here. I'm so excited to hear what you guys think. I feel like there was a ton of stuff I wanted to say here, but it's almost 2 AM so I don't remember it D: womp womp. Hmm. I guess you guys are just gonna have to leave me reviews with questions *wink wink* Hehe. Talk to you guys soon! Enjoy!


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